1661) 


o 


THE   REAL    MRS.  HOLYER 


THE   REAL 
MRS.    HOLYER 

By 
E.  M.  CHANNON 

(Mrs*  Francis  Channon) 
Author  of  "A  Street  Angel" 


and  "The  Authoress" 


GARDEN  CITY        NEW  YORK 

DOUBLEDAY,  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

1912 


All  rights  reserved 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I. — PRINCE  CHARMING  i 

II. — CHRISTMAS  PREPARATIONS    .         .  17 

III. — CHRISTMAS  DAY  .....  36 

IV. — ONE  OF  OUR  LARGE  PARTIES       .         .  56 

V. — Two's  COMPANY          ....  75 

VI. — A  BUSINESS  PROPOSAL         ...  93 

VII. — AMABEL  AS  A  PERSON  OF  IMPORTANCE  105 

VIII. — THE  LAST  OF  MARGERY  LENNARD        .  125 

IX. — ARCADIA     ......  140 

X. — THE  JANNAWAYS         ....  156 

XI. — THE  SECRET  THAT  WAS  NOT  KEPT        .  174 

XII. — THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW     .         .  195 

XIII. — SOMETHING  TO  DO       .         .        .         .  218 

XIV. — TIME  AND  THE  HOUR          .         .         .  229 

XV. — MY  LORD  AND  MY  LADY    .         .         .  250 

XVI. — MARGERY  RECEIVES  VISITORS       .         .  278 

XVII. — THE  LITTLE  CHURCH  IN  THE  PARK      .  298 

XVIII. — LADY  STELLACOMBE  AT  HOME     .         .  319 


2134976 


THE  REAL  MRS.  HOLYER 


CHAPTER  1 

PRINCE  CHARMING 

"    A   ND    I    do    beg,    Miss  Lennard,    that   you  will 

f~\  try,  at  least  for  this  one  day — when,  as  you 
know,  I  am  particularly  anxious  for  them  to  appear  at 
their  best — to  contrive  for  the  children  to  come  in  from 
their  walk  bright  and  cheerful !  It  is  most  astonishing 
to  me  that  they  should  come  in,  day  after  day,  either 
fretful  or  in  actual  tears." 

"  Shan't  come  in  at  all  next  time  if  it's  old  rice- 
pudding  again  for  dinner  !  "  said  Cedric,  running  his 
hoopstick  with  an  excruciating  noise  over  the  black- 
and-white  marble  flags  of  the  hall. 

"  /  shall  come  in  good  !  "  piped  Amabel.  "  Uncle 
Theophilus  is  sure  to  have  presents  for  us,  and  he 
will  have  come  before  tea-time." 

"  Childhood  ought  to  be  the  happiest  time  of  life, 
and  is,  if  proper  care  is  taken,"  said  Mrs.  Croome, 
in  her  best  platform  manner.  "  And  I  must  say,  Miss 
Lennard,  that  it  is  a  disappointment  to  me,  after  the 
very  high  recommendations  I  had  with  you,  to  find 
you  so  poor  a  manager  !  " 

Margery  Lennard  raised  large  submissive  eyes  to  her 

I 


The  Real   Mrs.   Holyer 

employer's  face — her  schoolfellows  had  been  wont  to 
say  that  she  was  "  all  eyes  " — but  said  nothing.  How- 
ever she  had  failed  as  a  teacher,  she  had  at  least  learnt 
her  own  lessons  well  in  three  months.  She  must  keep 
her  charges  always  spotless  and  presentable ;  she 
must  spend  her  time  exclusively  with  them,  night  and 
day,  without  expecting  change  or  holiday  of  any  sort ; 
she  must  teach  them,  without  any  reference  at  all  to 
their  natural  gilts,  all  the  knowledge  which  the  most 
precocious  eight-year-olds  of  genius  might  manage  to 
acquire,  and  at  the  same  time  train  them  to  be  quite 
perfect  in  manners,  bright  and  conversable  when 
required  to  show  off,  silent  angels  at  other  times. 
She  must  never,  never  punish.  Above  all,  she  must 
avoid,  for  her  own  part,  all  suspicion  of  the  deadly  vice 
of  "  answering  back,"  and  understand,  once  for  all, 
that  governesses  were  to  be  seen  and  not  heard. 

"  Now,  pray,  go,  at  once !  "  said  Mrs.  Croome. 
"  I  can't  imagine  why  you  should  be  dawdling  in  this 
way,  when  the  afternoons  now  are  so  short !  " 

Margery  went  silently  down  the  wide  steps  after 
her  pupils,  dreading  the  usual  wrangle  as  to  shops 
versus  Gardens ;  but  for  once  in  a  way  she  was  spared 
this.  Cedric  was  anxious  to  try  the  paces  of  a  new 
hoop,  which  was  incompatible  with  shopping.  Amabel 
had  a  sentimental  hope  of  meeting  with  a  certain 
black-eyed  little  boy,  whose  attention  she  had  vainly 
sought  to  attract  ever  since  his  first  appearance  in  the 
Gardens ;  and  to-day,  armed  with  a  new  Teddy  bear, 
and  brave  in  her  best  velvet  coat  and  hat,  she  felt  that 
she  could  no  longer  be  ignored.  So  she  minced  along 

2 


Prince  Charming 

beside  the  eager  Cedric,  and  for  once  made  no  complaint 
of  the  rate  at  which  he  went. 

They  were  not  pretty  children,  being  pale,  as  London 
children  are  apt  to  be,  and  peevish-looking,  with  the 
fretfulness  that  comes  of  over-indulgence ;  but  each 
possessed  a  wonderful  quantity  of  light,  curling  hair. 
Amabel's  was  caught  back  and  tied  with  ribbon  on 
each  temple,  falling  behind  in  a  heavy  mass  of  ripples 
below  her  waist.  Cedric's,  cut  square  in  front,  lay 
on  his  shoulders  in  curls  after  the  Fauntleroy  fashion, 
and  his  mother  took  pains  to  keep  him  dressed  in 
accordance  with  that  high  ideal.  The  hair  was  suffi- 
ciently remarkable  to  make  strangers  turn  often  to 
look  after  it  in  the  street ;  but  they  passed  over  the 
pale-faced  young  governess  subsequently  with  only  a 
careless  glance,  for  no  one  had  ever  yet  called  Margery 
Lennard  pretty.  She  was  very  tall,  and  much  too 
slim  for  her  height.  Her  features  were  too  large  for  her 
extremely  thin  face,  her  black  hair  and  strongly  marked 
eyebrows  too  strongly  contrasted  with  her  colourless 
cheeks.  Even  her  grey  eyes,  set  in  long  black  lashes, 
were  robbed  of  their  undeniable  beauty,  because  they 
looked  so  unnaturally,  uncomfortably  large. 

"  There's  the  gate — now  we  can  run  !  "  said  Cedric, 
and  began  to  do  so  forthwith,  with  Amabel  in  his  wake. 
Margery  quickened  her  steps  in  pursuit.  It  was  quite 
useless  to  call  them  back ;  but,  fortunately,  eight 
years  old  is  a  poor  match  for  long-limbed  eighteen. 
They  were  sure  to  make  for  the  long,  wide  path  under 
the  plane-trees,  where  nurses,  children  and  governesses 
— the  three  degrees  of  importance,  in  a  descending 

3  I* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

scale — most  did  congregate.  Margery  had  a  liking  for 
it  on  her  own  account.  It  was  bright  and  sunny. 
One  could  sit  there  quite  comfortably,  even  when  one's 
coat  was  not  wonderfully  thick,  on  any  reasonably 
mild  winter  day  ;  and  there  was  plenty  to  watch,  even 
for  a  lonely  person  who  knew  nobody  and  was  not 
expected  to  make  friends.  It  is  true  that  a  good 
many  kindly  glances  had  been  cast  from  time  to  time 
towards  the  very  young  and  pale  girl,  who  was  always 
alone  with  her  little  charges ;  but  on  one  occasion, 
when  a  warm-hearted  little  Swiss  governess  had  made 
advances  of  friendship,  and  had  caused  a  long  morning 
to  slip  by  like  five  minutes,  Mrs.  Croome's  subsequent 
indignation  had  been  so  great  that  Margery  had  never 
dared  to  repeat  the  pleasant  experiment. 

"  The  children  tell  me  that  you  have  actually  been 
talking  all  this  morning  to  a  foreign  person — a  foreign 
person,  Miss  Lennard  ! — whom  they  do  not  know.  I 
thought  you  told  me  that  you  had  no  friends  in 
London  ?  " 

"  No.  I  have  not,"  Margery  acknowledged, 
trembling. 

"  Then  who  introduced  you  to  her  ?  " 

Margery  was  forced  timidly  to  own  that  there  had 
been  no  introduction — no  formality  of  any  sort : 
that  the  morning's  chat  had  been  only  born  of  a  kind 
impulse  on  the  part  of  a  perfect  stranger  :  that  she 
did  not  even  know  the  name  of  her  new  acquaintance's 
employers. 

There  was  an  awful  pause. 

"  You  go  out  to  take  care  of  my  children ;  not  to 
4 


Prince  Charming 

amuse  yourself  with  undesirable  companions,"  said 
Mrs.  Croome  terribly.  "  This  must  not  occur  again. 
Do  you  understand  that  ?  " 

Margery  murmured  the  faintest  "  Yes "  in  reply ; 
and  the  next  day  discouraged  her  new  friend  for  good 
and  all,  and  ever  thereafter  took  care  to  reject  any 
further  advances  made  to  her.  She  could  not  afford 
to  quarrel  with  her  bread-and-butter. 

"  You  live  in  one  of  the  fine  houses  in  Canning 
Place  !  "  the  little  Swiss  had  exclaimed,  much  im- 
pressed, on  that  one  delightful  morning  of  comrade- 
ship ;  and  then  had  gone  on  to  describe  the  little 
house  in  Bayswater  where  her  own  lot  was  cast :  its 
shifts,  its  clever  contrivances,  its  merriment.  Margery 
learned,  as  the  best  of  fun,  that  there  was  always  a 
certain  doubt  as  to  the  possibility  of  providing  Tom, 
or  Harry,  or  Peter  with  his  next  pair  of  boots ;  that 
Sylvia's  dancing-class  was  only  achieved  at  the  expense 
of  her  mother's  new  winter  jacket ;  that  sometimes 
the  meat  would  not  go  round  more  than  once,  even  with 
the  cleverest  carving,  and  that  it  was  only  a  good 
joke  to  have  to  eke  it  out  with  dripping- toast.  Margery 
looked  wistfully  from  her  own  two  charges  to  the 
rosy,  shabby,  good-humoured  Tom  and  Sylvia,  hob- 
nobbing in  the  most  friendly  fashion  with  half  the  other 
children  in  the  plane-tree  walk ;  and  did  not  feel  that 
her  own  more  splendid  isolation  was  anything  to  be 
envied. 

The  Gardens  were  unusually  empty  this  afternoon, 
though  it  was  the  brightest  and  most  charming  of 
winter  days.  But  it  was  more  than  that :  it  was 

5 


The  Real   Mrs.   Holyer 

Christmas  Eve,  and  the  glories  of  the  shops  had  drawn 
most  of  the  children  away  as  by  a  magnet.  Cedric's 
ideas  were  very  well  suited,  for  there  was  practically 
no  one  to  get  in  the  way  of  that  fine  new  hoop ;  and 
Amabel,  too,  was  quite  content,  for  the  little  black- 
eyed  object  of  her  admiration  was  there,  walking 
stolidly  up  and  down  with  his  nurse,  and  she  had 
the  best  of  opportunities  for  strutting  up  and  down 
in  his  full  view,  dandling  her  Teddy  bear  ostentatiously, 
and  shaking  her  long  curls  back  at  every  turn.  Her 
manoeuvres  had  very  little  effect  on  the  cold-hearted 
swain,  who  seemed  quite  content  with  his  apathetic 
strolling  up  and  down  ;  but  Amabel,  who  was  a  per- 
sistent child,  went  on  steadily  with  her  little  wiles, 
undiscouraged  and  untiring. 

Margery  sat  by  herself  on  a  sunny  seat,  for  no  one 
else  seemed  to  care  to  sit  down  at  all — not  because  it 
was  too  cold,  but  because  all  the  world  was  too  busy. 
The  spirit  of  Christmas  was  abroad,  even  in  the 
Gardens.  People  walked  briskly,  with  bright  faces, 
as  if  they  had  still  many  pleasant  things  to  do;  and 
the  scraps  of  passing  talk  that  came  to  Margery's  ears 
were  all  of  presents  and  parties  and  holidays.  One  and 
all  seemed  to  expect  a  great  deal  of  enjoyment;  and 
a  forlorn  lump  rose  suddenly  in  Margery's  throat,  for 
she  had  no  agreeable  expectations  at  all  of  Christmas 
in  Canning  Place — and,  though  those  who  expect 
nothing  are  said  to  be  blessed,  they  are  not  often 
among  the  riotously  happy  of  the  world. 

She  was  horrified,  a  moment  later,  to  find  actual 
sharp  tears  pricking  into  her  eyes,  and  the  fright  of 

6 


Prince  Charming 

the  discovery  dried  them  at  once.  If  Mrs.  Croome 
objected  to  juvenile  weeping,  it  was  quite  impossible 
to  imagine  what  she  would  say  to  a  governess  who 
returned  from  her  walk  with  a  tear-stained  face ;  and 
Margery  had  a  desperate  feeling  that  if  she  once  began 
to  cry,  she  could  not  stop  at  all.  She  took  herself 
sharply  to  task  for  her  absurd,  disgraceful — nay,  quite 
unpardonable — behaviour.  What  in  the  world  had  she 
to  cry  for  ?  She  had  never  expected  to  find  governess- 
ing  a  bed  of  roses.  She  had  been  accounted  fortunate 
to  secure  this  highly  eligible  situation,  with  a  salary 
beyond  what  most  young  beginners  hoped  for — more 
than  half,  in  fact,  what  Mrs.  Croome  paid  her  lady's 
maid.  With  only  two  charges,  her  duties  were  light 
enough — and,  by  the  way,  where  were  the  children  ? 

She  sat  up  straight  and  looked  hastily  round.  There 
was  Amabel,  still  parading  and  pirouetting  at  a  little 
distance  from  the  unresponsive  object  of  her  admira- 
tion. But  Cedric  and  his  hoop  had  vanished. 

"  Amabel !  Amabel !  Where  has  Cedric  gone  ?  " 
cried  Margery. 

"  /  don't  know,  Miss  Lennard,"  said  Amabel,  not 
troubling  to  come  nearer,  but  raising  the  little  thin 
voice  that  was  such  an  absurd  replica  of  her  mother's. 
"  It's  not  my  place  to  look  after  him." 

There  was  a  deadly  truth  in  this,  most  obvious,  most 
exasperating,  and  anything  but  consoling.  Margery 
started  up  from  her  seat,  looking  anxiously  round  for 
the  truant.  Only  two  minutes  before  he  had  been 
contentedly  running  up  and  down  the  plane-tree  walk, 
from  one  end  to  the  other,  and  now  he  had  vanished 

7 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

as  if  into  thin  air.  True,  there  were  plenty  of  other 
paths,  but  none  so  straight,  broad,  and  generally 
eligible  for  the  bowling  of  a  new  hoop.  But  it  was 
absurd  to  be  alarmed  about  him  ;  of  course,  he  would 
come  back  in  a  minute  or  two.  There  was  no  danger 
of  any  sort,  except 

Her  hasty  thoughts,  reaching  that  precise  point, 
were  met  by  a  splash  and  a  blood-curdling  shriek. 
With  a  gasp  of  horror,  Margery  set  off  running  as  if 
her  feet  were  winged.  There  was  no  mistaking  the 
voice ;  she  had  heard  Cedric's  peculiar  high-pitched 
scream  far  too  often  to  be  in  any  doubt  now  as  to  the 
screamer.  Of  course,  that  one  particular  part  of  the 
Gardens  was  absolutely  forbidden  to  both  the  children, 
unless  she  was  with  them  ;  but  they  were  not  in  the 
habit  of  obedience,  unless  it  happened  to  fit  in  with 
their  occupations.  The  very  worst  of  all  had  hap- 
pened :  and  how  was  Margery  ever  to  face  Mrs.  Croome 
again  ? 

It  took  only  two  minutes,  that  seemed  years,  to 
reach  the  dreadful  pond,  which  was  all  broken  up  into 
waves  and  ripples.  People  were  running  towards  it 
from  all  sides.  In  the  very  middle  floated  the  brand- 
new  hoop  that  had  been  Cedric's  pride  and  joy  five 
minutes  before ;  and  at  Margery's  very  feet,  as  she 
paused  on  the  edge,  Cedric's  brown  velvet  hat  bobbed 
up  and  down. 

"  What  a  naughty  boy  Cedric  is,  isn't  he,  Miss 
Lennard  ? "  said  Amabel's  squeaky,  virtuous  little 
voice  at  her  elbow. 

"  Don't !  "  choked  Margery,  with  wild  eyes  scanning 
«  8 


Prince  Charming 

the  little  waves.  Surely,  surely  there  had  not  been  time 
for  Cedric  to  sink  and  rise  three  times — and  surely 
drowning  people  always  did  that !  If  only  she  could 
tell  the  exact  point  where  he  had  fallen  in,  so  that  she 
might  throw  herself  after  him  at  the  same  place 

"  You  don't  think  he  is  quite  drowned,  do  you,  Miss 
Lennard  ?  "  inquired  Amabel  with  interest. 

"  Don't,  Amabel !  "  said  poor  Margery  again. 

"If  he  is,  the  rocking-horse  will  be  all  mine,  won't 
it  ?  "  Amabel  pursued  pleasantly. 

Margery  turned  away  with  a  shiver,  clasping  and 
unclasping  her  hands.  Her  mind  ran  forward  with 
lightning  speed  to  the  awful  return  to  Canning  Place. 
It  seemed  years  since  she  had  reached  the  edge  of  the 
pond,  and  yet  the  people  who  had  begun  running 
towards  it  from  a  little  distance  at  the  sound  of  the 
splash  and  scream  had  only  just  arrived.  They  were 
asking  her  excitedly  what  had  happened — who  it  was 
— what  had  become  of  him 

"  Why,  there  he  is  !  and  oh,  what  a  mess  he  is  in  !" 
cried  Amabel. 

Margery  turned,  gasping.  A  well-known  sound  of 
fretful  crying  was  coming  rapidly  towards  her — she 
had  never  expected  to  hear  that  particularly  exaspera- 
ting noise  with  such  rejoicing.  A  wet,  dripping, 
muddy  brown  creature  was  being  quickly  carried 
towards  her  in  the  arms  of  someone  very  tall. 

"  Oh,  Cedric !  "  screamed  Amabel.  "  Look — look 
at  your  best  suit !  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  gave  you  an  unnecessary  fright,"  said 
a  voice  over  Margery's  head.  "  I  was  lucky  enough 

9 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

to  be  standing  by  this  young  man  when  he  over- 
balanced, and  had  him  out  almost  before  he  was 
fairly  in  ;  but  I  could  see  no  one  belonging  to  him, 
so  we  went  the  wrong  way  at  first.  Don't  worry  about 
him — he  isn't  any  the  worse  for  it." 

Margery  looked  up  straight  into  a  pair  of  very  blue 
eyes,  which  were  looking  down  at  her  with  reassuring 
kindness.  She  was  so  very  tall  that  she  had  not 
often  to  look  up  at  anyone  ;  but  this  particular  person 
over-topped  her  by  four  or  five  inches.  He  was  young 
— not  so  much  older  than  herself — and  handsome 
with  the  frankly  obvious  beauty  of  a  fairy-tale  prince, 
about  which  there  cannot  be  two  opinions.  He  set 
Cedric  down  on  his  feet,  giving  him  a  friendly  little 
shake. 

"  There,  young  man !  That'll  do !  "  said  he. 
"  There  is  nothing  the  matter  now,  you  know  ;  and  a 
fellow  of  your  size  is  too  big  to  cry.  Besides,  you 
are  frightening  your  sister." 

"  She  isn't  our  sister,"  said  Amabel,  with  indigna- 
tion. "  She's  only  our  governess  !  " 

"  So  much  the  worse  for  you,  then  !  "  said  Cedric's 
rescuer ;  and  he  shook  himself  too,  incidentally,  for 
he  was  nearly  as  wet  and  muddy  as  Cedric  himself. 
Margery  began  to  stammer  out  faltering,  distressful 
thanks;  but  he  cut  them  short  at  once  with  a  gay 
laugh  and  a  merry  glance  from  the  kind  blue  eyes. 

"  My  humble  garments  will  be  none  the  worse  ;  but 

the  young  man's "  he  said,  with  an  expressive 

glance  of  some  amusement  at  the  Fauntleroy  velvet ; 
and  Margery,  noting  for  the  first  time  what  a  deplorable 

10 


Prince  Charming 

state  her  charge  was  irij  turned,  if  possible^  a  little 
whiter  than  before. 

"  Oh,  I  must  get  him  home  at  once  !  "  she  said. 
"  Come,  Cedric,  be  quick,  or  you  will  catch  such  a  cold !  " 

But  Cedric,  subsiding  in  a  hopeless  heap  on  the  path, 
wept  and  wailed,  and  declined  to  walk  at  all.  A 
crowd  was  rapidly  gathering  round  them.  The  young 
man,  with  one  disgusted  glance,  picked  up  the  sobbing 
child  without  ceremony,  and  walked  off  with  him. 

"  There  are  cabs  only  five  minutes  away — though 
he  would  have  been  better  walking,"  he  said  briefly. 

Margery  followed  as  quickly  as  she  might,  with 
Amabel  dragging  pettishly  at  her  hand,  and  declaring 
that  she  was  tired,  and  could  not  walk  any  farther — 
and  why  were  they  not  going  home  the  other  way?  The 
Croome  children  were  certainly  not  a  helpful  pair  in 
any  dilemma.  For  the  last  half  of  the  little  distance, 
Margery  had  to  drag  her  refractory  companion  along 
almost  by  force,  which  so  impeded  their  progress  that, 
by  the  time  they  reached  the  gate,  Cedric  was  already 
established  in  a  cab,  with  his  rescuer  standing  by  it 
like  a  jailer. 

"  Now,  then,  in  with  you,  too  !  "  and  he  swung 
Amabel  inside  in  an  unceremonious  fashion  not  at  all 
to  her  taste ;  and  then  gave  Margery's  hand  a  re- 
assuring grasp — a  very  cold  hand,  even  through  her 
woollen  glove.  "  Don't  worry  about  him — /  should 
smack  him,  if  I  were  in  authority  !  "  he  said.  "  He's 
quite  all  right,  and  won't  be  any  the  worse  for  it. 
Where  shall  I  tell  the  man  to  drive  to  ?  " 

"Five,  Canning  Place,"  said  Margery  faintly;  and 

ii 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

could  not  help  seeing,  even  in  the  midst  of  her  misery, 
a  quick  glance  of  half  amusement,  half  interest,  that 
met  her  words.  But  he  said  nothing  more,  except, 
just  as  the  cab  was  moving  off,  a  very  brief  injunction 
through  the  window  :  "  Don't  pay  the  man  over  again." 
Then  he  lifted  his  hat  and  turned  away,  smiling,  gay 
and  debonair ;  and  Margery's  heart,  as  she  lost  sight 
of  him,  went  down  like  lead.  It  was  all  very  well  to 
say  :  "  Don't  worry."  He  had  not  the  prospect  of 
facing  Mrs.  Croome.  He  did  not  know  that  that 
beautiful  velvet  suit  had  been  donned  with  the  sole 
purpose  of  making  a  favourable  impression  on  the  rich 
and  eminently  desirable  Uncle  Theophilus,  who  would 
presumably  have  arrived  by  this  time.  Lower  and 
lower  went  Margery's  heart,  as  she  surveyed  Cedric 
sitting  opposite  to  her,  a  truly  deplorable  object  ; 
for  brown  velvet  hates  water  as  much  as  does  the 
proverbial  cat,  and  a  pale  little  fretful  face,  stained 
with  tears  and  mud,  is  anything  but  prepossessing. 
Even  the  beautiful  curls  were  wet  and  matted  with 
mud  ;  and,  with  a  new  pang,  Margery  remembered  that 
the  very  expensive  hat,  in  her  relief  at  sight  of  its 
owner,  had  been  left  to  bob  up  and  down  forlornly  at 
the  edge  of  the  pond. 

"  Don't  cry  any  more,  Cedric — don't,  dear !  "  she 
implored.  "  It's  all  right  now,  you  know  !  " 

"  I'm  all  wet  and  uncomferable  !  "  wept  Cedric. 

"  We  shall  be  at  home  directly,  and  you  will  soon  be 
warm  and  dry  again,"  urged  Margery. 

"  He'll  be  sure  to  catch  his  death  of  cold,"  said 
Amabel  complacently.  "  He  always  does  if  he  gets 

12 


Prince  Charming 

wet.  He  had  infamation  of  the  tongue  once,  and  his 
temper  was  two  hundred  and  two  !  " 

"  It  wasn't !  "  said  Cedric. 

"  It  was  !  "  said  Amabel. 

Cedric  melted  incontinently  into  fresh  tears. 

"  I  shan't  catch  my  death !  "  he  shrieked.  "  I 
won't  be  buried  in  a  hole  !  "  And  he  slapped  Amabel 
with  a  will,  and  with  such  a  wet  and  muddy  hand, 
that  her  appearance  also  was  effectually  spoiled  for  the 
afternoon,  and  her  ready  tears  came  as  if  someone  had 
pulled  the  string  of  a  shower-bath. 

"  Children  !  children  !  "  cried  poor  Margery,  with 
her  own  lips  quivering.  "  Have  you  forgotten  your 
uncle  ?  What  will  he  think,  if  he  sees  you  come  in  with 
faces  like  that  ?  " 

But  the  little  Croomes,  brought  up  to  no  habits  of 
self-restraint,  only  wept  consumedly,  with  mouths 
wide  open.  The  chorus  of  roars  attracted  far  more 
notice  than  was  pleasant,  though  Margery  hastily  pulled 
up  both  windows ;  and  it  was  almost  a  relief  when  they 
turned  into  Canning  Place.  At  least,  the  terrors  of 
the  journey  were  over,  and  the  worst  of  all  must  be 
over  too,  in  a  very  few  minutes  more.  If  only  there 
were  any  chance  of  Mrs.  Croome's  being  out,  or,  at 
least,  temporarily  out  of  sight  and  hearing  !  But  that 
was  beyond  hope.  The  mere  stopping  of  the  cab  would 
infallibly  attract  her  attention ;  and,  besides,  there 
was  not  the  least  likelihood  that  she  would  be  out  of 
the  way.  The  triumphal  return  of  the  children  from 
their  walk  had  been  planned  out  for  the  immediate 
impressing  of  Uncle  Theophilus. 

13 


The  Real   Mrs.   Holyer 

She  cast  out  one  despairing  glance,  and  then  stepped 
out  of  the  cab  herself  and  helped  the  sobbing  children 
in  a  dumb  apathy  of  horror.  It  was  even  worse  than 
she  had  feared.  There,  actually  waiting  at  the  dining- 
room  window,  was  the  expectant  face  of  Mrs.  Croome, 
and  beside  it  a  round,  pink,  bald  head,  which  could 
belong  only  to  Uncle  Theophilus. 

The  guilty  trio  went  very,  very  slowly  up  the  long 
flight  of  steps. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Miss  Lennard  ?  " 

Mrs.  Croome  had  come  out  into  the  hall  to  meet 
them.  Her  voice  had  never  been  so  awful.  Her  light 
eyes  had  never  glittered  so  ominously. 

Margery  trembled  where  she  stood,  not  daring  to 
look  up  after  one  terrified  glance. 

"  I  am  so  sorry — oh,  so  sorry  I "  she  faltered. 
"  Cedric  was  bowling  his  new  hoop " 

"  And  it's  lost  !  We've  left  it  behind  in  the  pond  1  " 
howled  Cedric,  suddenly  waking  up  to  this  disastrous 
fact,  which  had  not  previously  occurred  to  him 
amongst  his  other  woes  ;  and  he  ran  forward,  to  throw 
his  muddy  self  for  sympathy  upon  his  mother's  new 
and  delicate  grey  silk  gown. 

"  And  his  hat's  there  too — the  new  one  that  was  so 
particular  'spensive.  Miss  Lennard  forgot  to  get  it 
out,"  said  Amabel,  supplying  this  additional  informa- 
tion with  a  manner  that  would  have  been  precocious 
if  it  had  not  been  so  impish. 

Mrs.  Croome  took  a  hasty  step  backwards,  drawing 
her  light  skirts  together. 

"  Don't  come  near  me — run  away  upstairs  at  once- 
14 


Prince  Charming 

children  !  "  she  cried  sharply,  in  a  voice  of  dreadful 
repression.  "  Miss  Lennard,  have  the  goodness  to 
make  them  both  presentable  before  I  see  them  again. 
Why,  the  child  is  soaking  wet !  "  putting  a  gingerly 
hand  on  Cedric's  muddy  shoulder.  "  I  never  heard  of 
such  a  thing  !  Quite  disgraceful !  " 

Margery  shrank  as  if  the  sharp  words  had  been  a 
whip-lash,  and  dumbly  took  a  hand  of  each  child  to 
lead  them  away. 

"  Come,  come,  Selina  !  Accidents  will  happen  I  " 
said  a  cheerful,  fat  voice,  and  Uncle  Theophilus 
appeared  at  the  dining-room  door,  his  round  face 
breaking  at  once  into  irrepressible  laughter.  "  What 
a  pair  of  little  mudlarks  !  Here's  a  parcel  for  each  of 
you  to  open  while  you  are  getting  dry,"  and  he  pro- 
duced with  some  difficulty  from  a  tight  pocket  two 
tempting  little  packages.  The  children's  tears  stopped 
as  if  by  magic  at  the  sight,  and  they  precipitated  them- 
selves upon  him  with  ecstasy. 

"  Don't  touch  your  uncle,  children  !  You're  not  fit 
to  come  near  him — besides,  you  will  catch  your  deaths 
if  you  don't  run  away  and  get  dry  at  once  !  "  cried 
Mrs.  Croome  hastily. 

"  Nonsense  !  "  said  Uncle  Theophilus,  giving  each  a 
bear-like  hug.  '  You  aren't  made  to  melt  away  in  a 
little  water,  are  you,  Cedric  ?  But  off  you  go  at  once, 
since  your  mother  says  so  1  " 

And,  for  a  wonder,  the  children  did  go  without  further 
delay,  disappearing  up  the  broad  staircase  with  Margery, 
in  what  was,  for  them,  quite  an  obedient  and  tractable 
mood. 

15 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

"Unpardonable  carelessness!  I  am  extremely 
vexed  t  "  said  Mrs.  Croome. 

"Never  saw  such  eyes  in  my  life  I "  said  Uncle 
Theophilus.  But  he  had  the  wisdom  to  say  it  only  to 
himself. 


16 


CHAPTER  II 

CHRISTMAS   PREPARATIONS 

THE  children  were  washed  and  dried  and  warmed, 
and  Margery's  judgment  would  have  put  Cedric 
promptly  to  bed  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  But  the  mere 
suggestion  of  such  a  thing  produced  such  a  tempest  of 
screams  that  she  had  no  resource  but  to  send  down  a 
timid  message,  to  inquire  if  Mrs.  Croome  expected  the 
children  down  after  tea  as  usual.  A  particularly  stiff 
answer  came  back,  that  "  of  course,  that  was  Mrs. 
Croome' s  wish  "  ;  so  Margery  had  no  choice  in  the 
matter,  and  Cedric  stopped  screaming  to  triumph  over 
her.  The  little  parcels,  which  proved  to  contain 
presents  of  equal  value  and  great  attractiveness,  pro- 
vided peaceful  amusement  until  tea  was  ready ;  and 
Margery  had  time  to  contemplate  the  afternoon's 
disasters,  and  wonder  tremblingly  what  awful  vengeance 
would  befall  her.  Her  spirits  were  not  raised  by  a 
flying  visit  from  Flora,  the  grown-up  daughter  of  the 
house,  who  looked  in  to  remark  that  "  Mother  is 
furiously  angry,  Miss  Lennard ;  and  how  on  earth 
did  it  happen  ?  " 

Margery  explained  briefly,  and  the  children  supplied 
details. 

17  2 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  I  suppose  the  suit  is  quite  ruined  ?  "  said  Flora, 
fastening  at  once  upon  the  special  point  that  appealed 
most  to  herself. 

"  I'm  afraid  it  will  never  look  really  nice  again," 
said  poor  Margery. 

"  What  a  waste  !  and  quite  new  only  the  other 
day  !  "  said  Flora.  "  By  the  way,  don't  let  Amabel 
wear  her  pale  blue  to-night,  Miss  Lennard.  I  want 
to  wear  my  green,  and  she  always  comes  and  stands  by 
me  and  kills  it." 

"  I  don't  1  "  said  Amabel. 

"  You  do  !  "  said  Flora  sharply.  *'  You  little  spite- 
ful thing  1  " 

"  I  don't !  I  don't  !  But  I  will  next  time,  you  see 
if  I  don't ! "  cried  Amabel  in  vindictive  crescendo. 
Whereupon  Flora  shook  her  soundly,  and  then  flew 
out  of  the  room,  banging  the  door  after  her. 

"  Don't  cry,  Amabel !  "  implored  Margery.  "  You 
don't  want  to  look  an  ugly  girl  again,  do  you,  when 
you  go  down  to  see  your  uncle  ?  " 

"  It's  her  that's  spiteful,  not  me/"  sobbed  Amabel 
vengefully.  But  a  prudent  vanity  fortunately  checked 
her  tears,  and  the  storm  passed  by,  losing  itself  in  the 
usual  animated  dispute  over  the  best-buttered  piece 
of  toast.  Margery  had  long  ago  given  up  the  hopeless 
task  of  trying  to  make  the  twins  treat  each  other  with 
at  least  some  outward  show  of  politeness  ;  and  was 
even  sometimes  reduced  to  a  dismal  wonder  whether 
either  had  the  smallest  affection  for  the  other.  Amabel's 
precocity  had  been  laughed  at  and  encouraged  until  it 
frequently  ended  in  downright,  pointless  rudeness ; 

18 


Christmas  Preparations 

while  the  slower  and  stronger  Cedric,  destitute  of  a 
similar  readiness  of  tongue,  had  to  prove  his  masculine 
superiority  by  mere  brute  force.  For  once,  however, 
they  combined  in  a  brief  armistice,  while  they  simul- 
taneously dilated  to  Margery  upon  the  glories  of 
Christmas  Day. 

"  We  always  go  down  to  dinner — not  just  dessert  !  " 
they  cried  in  concert.  "  We  stay  up  as  late  as  we  like, 
and  we  have  turkey  and  plum  pudding,  and  mince  - 
pies,  and  crystallised  fruits,  and  everything" 

"  And  pork-wine  !  "  cried  Cedric. 

"  Last  year  you  would  have  likoor,  and  it  gave  you  a 
red  face  and  a  headache,"  said  Amabel. 

"  I  don't  care  !  "  said  Cedric.  "  We  always  have 
just  what  we  like  on  Christmas  Day,  like  the  grown-ups  ; 
and  I  shall  have  it  again  if  I  like  !  Daddy  said  he  never 
laughed  so  much  in  all  his  life." 

"  You  did  look  silly  I  "  said  Amabel,  with  an  irri- 
tating little  tinkle  of  shrill  laughter. 

"  I  shall  have  it  again  if  I  like— I  shall !  I  shall  1  " 
shouted  Cedric.  "  We're  both  always  sick  the  next 
day,  anyhow  ;  but  it's  worth  it  !  " 

"  And  there  aren't  any  shops  open  then,  so  there's 
nothing  to  go  out  for,"  said  Amabel  philosophically. 

"  Only  sweet-shops,"  said  Cedric.  "  And  we  always 
have  lots  of  boxes  of  them  ;  and  we  don't  want  them, 
either,  just  after  Christmas  Day." 

"  What  else  do  you  do,  besides  having  late  dinner  ?  " 
asked  Margery. 

"  Oh,  we  always  have  a  Christmas-tree  I  "  cried  the 
two  together.  "  With  lots  of  presents — we  always 

19  2* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

have  our  presents  saved  up  for  that — and  lots  and 
lots  of  candles  !  " 

"  But  that's  in  the  evening,  of  course,"  said  Margery 
gently.  "  What  happens  before  that  ?  " 

"  Oh,  we  go  to  church,  of  course,  in  the  morning, 
with  mother,"  said  Amabel  primly,  with  a  sudden 
change  of  manner. 

"  Just  spoils  the  day  !  "  growled  Cedric,  looking  very 
cross  all  at  once  and  kicking  a  stool  hard. 

"  Cedric  !  "  said  Margery. 

"  Yes.  It's  naughty  to  say  that,  isn't  it,  even  if  he 
thinks  so  ?  "  said  Amabel.  "  Besides,  it's  quite  the 
thing  to  go  to  church  on  Christmas  Day.  Mother  says 
so.  She  always  does,  even  if  she  doesn't  much  other 
times.  And,  after  all,  it's  only  a  short  service  ;  and 
the  decorations  are  rather  pretty,  and  the  hymns 
aren't  bad,  and  lots  of  the  people  have  new  clothes 
on." 

"  It's  a  much  nicer  church  than  the  one  we  go  to  with 
you,  too,"  said  Cedric.  "  They  have  nice  smelly  stuff, 
and  candles  and  things,  and  the  clergymen  wear 
queer  clothes.  I've  done,  Miss  Lennard.  Can  I  get 
down  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  Amabel  has  finished  too,"  said  Margery, 
and  the  twins,  for  once  like  -minded,  scrambled  from 
their  chairs  without  further  ado,  full  of  their  daily  visit 
to  the  drawing-room  :  so  anxious,  in  fact,  to  see  what 
else  Uncle  Theophilus  had  about  him  in  the  way  of 
presents,  that  the  work  of  getting  them  ready  was 
unusually  easy.  Cedric  was  astonishingly  willing  to 
fetch  and  put  on  his  own  shoes  and  socks.  Amabel 

20 


Christmas   Preparations 

stood  still  to  admiration  while  her  hair-ribbon  was 
being  tied,  and  did  not  whine  at  all  about  its  being  too 
tight  or  too  loose.  In  a  time  that  was  a  record  for 
shortness,  they  were  in  order  to  the  last  flaxen  curl, 
and  were  starting  off  together,  as  dainty  and  attractive 
a  pair  as  white  satin  and  lovely  hair  could  make  them  ; 
even  the  little  pale  faces  looked  their  best,  smiling 
and  expectant,  with  fretfulness  banished  for  the 
moment.  Margery  had  taken  infinite  pains,  and 
hoped  tremblingly  that  so  much  might  be  placed  to 
her  credit ;  but,  for  all  that,  it  was  a  very  wretched 
hour  that  she  spent  alone  before  their  return.  Mrs. 
Croome  in  her  ordinary  moods  was  sufficiently  alarm- 
ing ;  but  Mrs.  Croome  "  furiously  angry " ! 

Margery  shivered,  and  walked  up  and  down  the  school- 
room, twisting  her  thin  hands  together.  Would  she 
be  dismissed  at  once  ?  It  would  be  terrible  to  be  sent 
away  in  dire  disgrace  after  only  three  months  :  terrible 
to  begin  all  over  again  that  heart-breaking  scanning  of 
advertisements  and  reading  of  letters,  with  the  addi- 
tional set-back  of  one  bad  failure  behind  her.  True, 
she  might  possibly  find  herself  eventually  in  some  less 
lofty  but  more  congenial  situation,  such  as  that 
described  by  her  quondam  little  Swiss  friend  ;  but 
Margery's  brief  encounter  with  the  world,  as  repre- 
sented by  Canning  Place,  had  not  inspired  her  with 
hopefulness.  Besides,  the  head-mistress  of  her 
Orphanage  school  had  taken  such  pains  to  find  this 
place  for  her,  and  would  be  so  disappointed  at  her 
failure.  No  !  The  bad  best  which  was  all  she  dared 
to  hope  for  was  a  terrible  scolding  and  a  tardy  for- 

21 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

giveness  ;    and  even  that  seemed  more  than  she  could 
expect. 

The  children  were  coming  back,  and  coming  back 
in  a  good  temper,  as  she  could  tell  by  the  tone  of  their 
voices  outside  in  the  corridor.  They  rushed  in  and 
fell  upon  her,  full  of  scraps  of  news. 

"  Uncle  Theophilus  didn't  give  us  anything  at  all. 
He's  keeping  it  all  for  to-morrow." 

"  He  said  my  hair  was  lovely ! "  cried  Amabel, 
shaking  her  long  locks  about  with  much  gratification. 

"  It's  not  any  lovelier  than  mine  !  So  there  !  "  said 
Cedric. 

"  Well,  he  said  that  your  curls  made  you  look  like 
a  girl,  and  that  if  you  were  his,  he'd  have  cut  them  off 
when  you  were  two — so  there  !  And  I  said  he  might 
have  had  them  himself  for  his  bald  head." 

"  Oh,  Amabel !  that  was  very  rude  !  "  chided  Mar- 
gery reproachfully. 

"  Well,  they  all  laughed,  anyway  !  "  said  Amabel, 
who  had  come  to  regard  that  as  her  criterion  of  conduct. 

"  He  asked  where  you  were,  Miss  Lennard " 

"  Oh,  and  mother  wants  to  see  you  in  the  library  as 
soon  as  we  are  in  bed  !  " 

Margery  turned  white.  It  was  coming,  then  !  Well, 
better  to  get  it  over  before  night. 

"  She's  frightfully  angry  about  the  pond,"  said 
Amabel. 

"  Well,  she  was  ;  but  Uncle  Theophilus  begged  you 
off,"  said  Cedric,  quicker  of  eye  and  perhaps  of  heart, 
though  slower  of  tongue,  than  his  sister ;  and  struck, 
child  as  he  was,  by  the  change  in  Margery's  face. 

22 


Christmas   Preparations 

"  He  said  accidents  would  happen,  and  mother  said 
they  didn't  ought." 

"  He  said  you  were  only  a  child  yourself.  But  that 
isn't  true,  is  it,  Miss  Lennard  ?  " 

"  And  mother  said  you  were  old  enough  to  know 
better." 

"  He  said  that,  after  all,  there  was  no  harm  done." 

"  And  mother  said  we  should  see  about  that  in  a 
day  or  two  ;  and  that,  anyhow,  if  there  wasn't,  it  was 
no  credit  to  you.  And  she  said  she'd  take  care  not  to 
get  her  next  governess  from  a  charity  school." 

Margery  winced. 

"  But  daddy  said  that  then  she'd  have  to  make  up 
her  mind  to  pay  more,  and  that  she  wouldn't  have  got 
anyone  else  so  cheap  with  such  a  lot  of  stiffkets.  What 
is  a  stiff ket,  Miss  Lennard  ?  " 

"  But  Uncle  Theophilus  said  that  bygones  were 
bygones,  and  that,  after  all,  Christmas  comes  but  once 
a  year.  And  /  said  that,  of  course,  everyone  knew 
that.  Wasn't  it  a  silly  thing  to  say  ?  "  shrilled  Amabel 
conceitedly. 

"  Come,  children  !  "  said  poor  Margery,  very  pale 
and  subdued.  "  It's  bedtime  now.  And  I  must  not 
be  late,  if  your  mother  wants  me  downstairs." 

"  I  don't  want  to  go  to  bed !  "  said  Amabel  posi- 
tively. 

"I  do ! "  said  Cedric,  unfastening  buttons  with 
haste.  "  It  will  make  Christmas  come  all  the 
quicker." 

The  suggestion  was  a  most  useful  one,  at  least  from 
Margery's  point  of  view ;  for  Amabel's  opposition 

23 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

ceased  at  once,  and  she  was  only  anxious  to  be  the  first 
in  bed.  They  chattered  merrily  during  the  undressing 
process  ;  but  Margery,  sick  at  heart,  hardly  listened, 
until  a  further  allusion  to  the  afternoon's  misadventure 
caught  her  attention. 

"  Flora  wasn't  a  bit  interested,  except  about  the 
gentleman  who  got  Cedric  out  of  the  pond  ;  and  I 
told  her  that  he  was  like  a  young  Apple-o  !  " 

"  A  what,  Amabel  ?  "  said  Margery. 

"  Apple-o,"  repeated  Amabel  testily,  with  raised 
voice.  ''  All  the  gentlemen  in  Sophia's  little  paper 
books,  what  marry  the  pretty  ladies,  are  like  that ; 
and  he  was  just  like  the  pictures  of  them  !  " 

"  But,  Amabel,"  cried  Margery,  seeing  a  fresh 
opening  for  alarm,  "  you  know  you  mustn't  read  Sophia's 
books !  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  snorted  Amabel. 

"  They  aren't  meant  for  children " 

"  Have  you  read  them  ?  "  asked  the  astute  damsel. 

"  No  ;  but  I  am  sure " 

"  You  can't  be  sure,  if  you  haven't ;  and  they  are 
most  in-ter-esting,"  said  Amabel,  getting  into  bed 
with  a  determined  nod  of  her  flaxen  pigtails.  "  And 
he  was.  His  eyes  were  as  blue  as — as  my  new  frock ; 
and  his  hair  was  as  pretty  as  Cedric' s,  and  nearly  as 
pretty  as  mine.  Good-night,  Miss  Lennard." 

Cedric,  after  the  usual  brief  nightly  contest  as  to  the 
use  or  abuse  of  washing  his  face  and  hands  the  last 
thing  at  night,  was  fortunately  in  bed  and  asleep  in 
his  adjoining  dressing-room,  and  so  missed  this  insult  ; 
and  Amabel's  eyes  looked  very  drowsy  as  Margery 

24 


Christmas  Preparations 

leant  over  to  kiss  her.  She  shut  the  door  softly,  and 
went  downstairs  to  her  dreaded  interview. 

"  Library "  was  only  a  courtesy  title,  for  no  one 
in  the  Croome  household  was  addicted  to  reading. 
There  were  books,  to  be  sure  :  handsome  books  in 
expensive  calf  and  morocco  bindings,  which  had  cost 
much  money  and  were  without  exception  uncut.  But 
"  library  "  sounded  well,  and  it  was  certainly  a  hand- 
some, spacious  room,  and  just  the  place  for  Mr.  Croome  to 
enjoy  his  pipe  and  paper  undisturbed.  Margery  went 
in  and  found  no  one  there,  but  in  one  corner  stood  the 
Christmas-tree  of  which  the  children  had  spoken — 
a  very  monster  of  a  tree,  towering  up  towards  the 
ceiling  ;  and  beside  it,  on  chairs  and  tables,  were  heaps 
of  parcels,  and  candles,  and  pretty,  glittering,  foolish 
ornaments,  and  elaborate  confectioneries  with  ribbons 
attached.  The  pleasant  sight  went  a  little  way  towards 
cheering  Margery's  frightened  heart.  It  looked  so 
very,  very  like  Christmas  preparations  such  as  one 
read  of  in  books  :  books  about  families,  where  everyone 
was  happy  and  loved  everyone  else.  Her  own  Christ  - 
mases  had  been  spent  at  her  Orphanage  school  ever 
since  her  smallest  childhood  ;  and  though  Miss  Willis 
did  her  best  to  make  a  Christmas  for  the  few  children 
left  behind  without  relations  or  friends  to  go  to,  the 
trail  of  the  institution  was  over  it  all — it  was  Christmas 
in  fetters.  Margery  had  never  in  all  her  life  yet  seen 
real  preparations  for  a  lavish  home  Christmas. 

She  was  contemplating  them  with  eager  eyes  when 
the  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Croome  came  in,  shutting  it 
after  her.  Margery  glanced  trembling  towards  her, 

25 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

but  her  face  was  not  one  to  betray  emotion  of  any 
sort. 

"  Ah  !  This  is  just  what  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you 
about,  Miss  Lennard,"  she  said,  and  her  voice  was  not 
noticeably  colder  than  usual.  "  I  want  you  to  get 
the  tree  ready  while  we  are  at  dinner,  and  then  I  will 
come  in  later  and  see  how  it  looks." 

"  I  should  like  to,  very  much,"  said  Margery,  with 
brightening  eyes.  "  But — I  haven't  had  any  experi- 
ence. I  never  had  to  do  with  a  Christmas-tree  before." 

"Oh,  I'm  sure  you  will  do  it  charmingly!"  said 
Mrs.  Croome,  with  a  wintry  smile.  "  I  never  like  to 
leave  it  to  servants  ;  this  sort  of  thing  is  always  so 
much  better  done  by  one  of  ourselves,  isn't  it  ?  They 
haven't  the  same  taste.  All  the  heavy  things  under- 
neath, of  course,  and  the  lighter  things  wired  on.  You 
will  find  plenty  of  wire  and  so  on.  Oh,  and  I  will 
ring  for  the  steps  ;  you  will  want  them  to  reach  the 
top  of  the  tree.  Oh,  and,  of  course,  I  want  the  room 
nicely  decorated  with  holly  and  so  on  ;  it  is  all  in  that 
corner,  I  see.  Take  care  that  the  candles  are  all  quite 
safe  :  not  under  overhanging  branches,  or  anything  of 
that  sort.  I  am  always  terribly  afraid  of  fire,  as  you 
know." 

"  I  will  be  very  careful,"  promised  Margery  earnestly. 
She  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Croome  so  nearly  friendly. 
Since  apparently  there  was  to  be  no  scolding,  after  all, 
for  the  afternoon's  doings,  she  was  too  conscientious 
not  to  apologize.  "  I  am  so  very  sorry  for  Cedric's 
accident ! "  she  faltered.  "  I  will  always  take  the  very 
greatest  care  in  future." 

26 


Christmas   Preparations 

Mrs.  Croome's  cold  smile  faded  like  winter  sunshine, 
and  her  manner  stiffened  appreciably,  as  if  with 
frost. 

"  I  was,  of  course,  extremely  annoyed,"  she  said. 
"  Indeed,  I  was  prepared  to  speak  rather  severely 
about  the  matter  ;  and  should  have  done  so,  if  it  had 
not  been  for  my  uncle,  Mr.  Privett."  She  might  just 
as  well  have  added  outright  :  "  The  great  and  wealthy 
Mr.  Privett,  of  Privett  and  Fortescue's  Indestructible 
Rubber  Tyres,"  for  her  tone  certainly  said  it  for  her. 
But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  all  that  she  added  was  :  "  He 
has  been  kind  enough  to  ask  that  the  matter  may  be 
passed  over,  in  consideration  of  his  visit  and  of  the 
season.  So  we  will  say  no  more  about  it." 

"  Thank  you,"  murmured  Margery,  and  wanted  to 
add :  "  You  are  very  kind."  But  the  words,  like 
Macbeth's  blessing,  stuck  in  her  throat. 

"  Oh — one  thing  more,  however,  before  we  drop  the 
subject  altogether,  Miss  Lennard,"  said  Mrs.  Croome, 
turning  back  just  as  she  had  reached  the  door.  "  The 
— the  gentleman — or  person — who  rescued  Cedric  from 
what  might  easily  have  been  a  very  serious  accident — 
I  did  not  understand  exactly " 

"  Oh,  he  was  certainly  a  gentleman  !  "  said  Margery, 
raising  such  innocent  eyes  that  Mrs.  Croome's  hard,  in- 
quisitive glance  fell  before  them. 

"  A  friend  of  yours,  perhaps  ? "  she  suggested 
tentatively. 

"  Oh,  no,  I  never  saw  him  before,  I  am  sure,"  said 
Margery,  in  so  guileless  and  earnest  a  fashion  that 
even  Mrs.  Croome  could  not  doubt  her.  "  I  suppose  he 

27 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

just  happened  to  be  passing.  I  have  no  idea  who  he 
was." 

"  I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Croome,  her  thin  lips  relaxing  a 
very  little  ;  and  she  went  out,  leaving  Margery  to 
her  task. 

It  was  very  pretty  and  charming  work — for  the  first 
hour  or  so.  Margery  had  plenty  of  natural  taste,  and 
she  thoroughly  enjoyed  the  handling  of  so  many  pretty 
things  and  the  arranging  of  them  to  the  best  advantage. 
The  candles  were  little  trouble,  except  for  their  number  ; 
they  were  all  ready  provided  with  little  metal  clips, 
and  the  only  difficulty  connected  with  them  was  reach- 
ing up  to  the  highest  parts  of  the  tree.  It  was  very 
interesting,  too,  to  hang  up  the  little  parcels,  each 
labelled  with  a  name,  and  to  speculate  on  their  con- 
tents. Margery  so  enjoyed  her  task  that  quite  a  long 
time  had  passed  before  she  realized  that  she  was 
getting  tired.  A  sudden  whiff  of  dinner,  something 
very  savoury,  stole  in  through  the  closed  door  and 
made  her  think  of  her  own  supper ;  and  suddenly  it 
struck  her  that  she  was  very  tired  indeed.  The  tree, 
so  far  as  its  decorations  went,  was  very  satisfactory ; 
she  had  no  fault  to  find  with  her  arrangements,  and 
really  had  some  reasonable  hope  that  they  might 
give  satisfaction  even  to  the  severely  critical  eyes  of 
Mrs.  Croome.  But  what  a  terrible  number  of  little 
parcels  and  ornaments  still  remained  to  be  fixed  in 
their  places  ;  and  what  arm-aching  work  it  was  to  reach 
up  to  the  very  high  branches  !  Margery  sat  down  for 
a  minute's  rest ;  and  the  large,  prosperous-looking 
clock  on  the  mantelpiece  struck  nine.  In  dismay,  she 

28 


Christmas  Preparations 

remembered  that  her  supper  must  have  been  taken 
up  to  the  schoolroom  long  ago,  and  wondered  if  she 
might  run  up  to  have  it  before  finishing  her  work. 
It  would  be  a  very  pleasant  break.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  Mrs.  Croome  came  in  to  find  her  flown,  her 
task  not  much  more  than  half  done,  she  might  be  very 
much  annoyed  ;  and  it  was  not  worth  while  risking 
the  present  peaceful  state  of  affairs,  especially  after  the 
afternoon's  disasters.  Margery  started  up  again  and 
began  to  arrange  the  heavy  parcels  under  the  tree. 
At  any  rate,  that  would  give  a  little  change  of  position, 
though  it  was  tiring  work.  Her  dismayed  eyes 
wandered  on  to  the  large  pile  of  evergreens  in  the 
corner,  which  she  had  entirely  forgotten.  No,  she 
had  certainly  understated  the  matter  in  reckoning 
her  task  half  done  !  It  promised  to  stretch  out,  at 
this  rate,  to  the  crack  of  doom. 

There  was  a  sound  of  opening  doors  and  chattering 
voices ;  and,  two  minutes  after,  the  diners  came  in 
to  see  what  progress  she  had  made.  They  looked 
well  fed  and  well  content.  Mrs.  Croome  sailed  in 
first,  resplendent  in  heliotrope  velvet,  glittering  with 
rings  and  necklaces  and  hair-ornaments — as  a  City 
magnate's  wife  has  a  perfect  right  to  do,  even  at 
her  own  domestic  table.  Beside  her  came  Uncle 
Theophilus,  short,  round,  bald,  pink,  irresistibly  sug- 
gestive of  an  excellent  pink  ham.  Flora  fluttered  after 
them,  conveying  her  usual  effect  of  being  a  little  too  well 
dressed  for  the  occasion,  a  little  too  plump,  a  little  too 
much  curled  and  powdered  and  scented,  a  little  too  con- 
scious of  her  good  points.  She  bore  too  strong  a  family 

29 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

resemblance  to  the  twins  to  be  a  distinctly  pretty  girl ; 
but  she  shared  their  gift  of  abundant  and  beautiful 
hair,  and  she  had  the  advantage  over  them  of  a  really 
good  pink-and-white  complexion.  Last  of  the  group, 
heavy-footed  and  flushed  of  face,  came  the  master  of 
the  house,  diffusing  an  atmosphere  of  vintage  port ; 
and  before  him  Margery  always  shrank  away  a  little 
instinctively.  She  was  afraid  of  his  loud  voice  and 
blustering  manner.  Her  only  desire  was  to  escape 
his  notice  altogether. 

"  You've  not  finished,  then,  Miss  Lennard !  " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Croome,  in  an  aggrieved  and  dis- 
appointed voice. 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Margery  timidly ;  and  went  on 
with  her  work  in  a  nervous  hurry. 

"  Not  finished !  "  echoed  Uncle  Theophilus,  in  his 
fat,  comfortable  voice.  "  Why,  if  Miss  Lennard  has 
done  all  this  by  herself  this  evening,  I,  for  one,  think  she 
has  done  wonders  !  " 

"  Yes,  you've  made  it  look  something  like  !  The 
prettiest  tree  we've  ever  had,  by  George  !  "  said  Mr. 
Croome,  so  unexpectedly  close  to  Margery's  ear  that 
she  fairly  jumped. 

"  That  parcel  is  too  heavy  for  you,  you  know," 
said  Uncle  Theophilus,  seeing  her  stoop  again  after 
a  bulky  box.  "  Come,  Henry  !  Come,  Flora  !  Many 
hands  make  light  work  ;  and  I'm  sure  Miss  Lennard 
has  done  her  share  for  this  evening.  She  looks  tired 
enough." 

"  I  thought  she  would  enjoy  such  interesting  work," 
said  Mrs.  Croome  with  some  acidity 

30 


Christmas  Preparations 

'So  I  did  !  I  mean,  so  I  do  !  "  Margery  protested 
hurriedly.  She  wished  they  had  not  come.  Tired 
as  she  was,  she  would  rather  have  finished  her  work 
for  herself.  She  felt  out  of  place  and  awkward  in 
her  plain  dark  serge  gown,  in  the  midst  of  these 
fine  folks  in  evening  dress. 

"  How  long  has  it  taken  you,  so  far  ?  "  asked  Uncle 
Theophilus,  surveying  her  with  little  eyes  that,  if  they 
were  somewhat  too  much  like  a  pig's,  were  uncommonly 
shrewd. 

"  I  began  at  about  seven,  I  think,"  said  Margery 
reluctantly.  Her  head  was  so  tired — she  really  could 
not  talk  and  work  too.  The  buzz  of  voices  made  her 
giddy.  The  extra  lights  which  Mr.  Croome  had 
switched  on — she  had  not  dared  to  indulge  herself 
with  more  than  one — dazzled  her  weary  eyes. 

"  And  now  it  is  nearly  ten.  How  much  time  did 
you  take  off  for  your  dinner — supper — hey  ?  "  said 
Uncle  Theophilus. 

"  I  haven't  had  it  yet,"  faltered  Margery.  "  I— 
didn't  like  to  waste  time  by  going  upstairs,  when  I 
was  in  the  middle  of  this " 

"  She  has  had  nothing  to  eat ! "  said  Uncle  Theo- 
philus, in  a  voice  of  extraordinary  expression,  turning 
upon  Mrs.  Croome.  It  seemed  as  if  the  plump  gentle- 
man could  imagine  no  greater  tragedy. 

"  Well !  It's  her  own  fault !  "  said  the  mistress  of 
the  house  testily.  "  Her  supper  always  goes  up  to  the 
schoolroom  at  the  same  time  every  evening.  If  she 
wouldn't  give  herself  the  trouble  of  going  up  to  get  it 
for  herself " 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  Oh,  come,  come,  Selina !  It's  too  bad ! "  said 
Mr.  Croome,  probably  seeing  the  matter,  like  his 
uncle,  with  a  masculine  view  of  its  importance  ;  and 
further  being  just  sufficiently  exhilarated  by  the  best 
contents  of  his  excellent  cellar  to  take  a  slightly 
exaggerated  interest  in  things  in  general.  He  rang  the 
bell  strenuously. 

"  Oh,  please !  "  faltered  Margery,  in  deep  distress. 

But  Mr.  Croome  was  already  issuing  explosive  orders 
to  an  astonished  servant.  "  Miss  Lennard  has  had 
no  supper !  Take  something  up  to  the  dining-room  for 
her  now,  in  double-quick  time  !  " 

"  Bring  her  own  supper  down  from  the  schoolroom," 
came  Mrs.  Croome' s  high  voice,  distinctly. 

"  Nonsense  !  Of  course,  it's  stone-cold  long  ago  !  " 
cried  Mr.  Croome,  in  a  fractious  tone. 

Mrs.  Croome,  well  aware  that  it  was,  and  always  had 
been,  cold,  was  prudent  enough  to  say  no  more. 

"  Some  cold  game,  or  something  of  that  sort ;  yes, 
and  some  of  that  creamy  stuff  that  Miss  Flora  had 
twice  of ;  and  anything  else  that  you  can  get  in  five 
minutes  !  "  cried  Mr.  Croome,  who  only  troubled  to 
show  himself  master  in  his  own  house  once  in  a  blue 
moon,  but  on  that  one  occasion  saw  to  it  that  his 
orders  were  carried  out  with  punctuality  and  despatch. 
"  And — and  then  two  or  three  of  you  can  come  and 
finish  off  this  tree  !  " 

"  Come  along,  Miss  Lennard  !  "  said  Uncle  Theo- 
philus  ;  and  poor  Margery,  with  burning  cheeks,  fol- 
lowed him  meekly  enough.  She  had  a  final  glimpse 
of  Mrs.  Croome' s  stony  face,  which  added  to  her  misery. 

32 


Christmas  Preparations 

If  only  they  would  have  let  her  alone !  She  would 
so  infinitely  have  preferred  going  supperless  to  bed  to 
being  the  centre  of  all  this  fuss  and  talk.  Mr.  Croome 
and  Mr.  Privett  meant  to  be  kind,  very  kind  ;  but  she 
had  a  dismal  foreboding  that  she  would  pay  dearly 
for  this  same  kindness  later. 

And  yet,  after  all — well,  after  all,  Margery  was 
only  eighteen,  and  more  tired  and  hungry  than  she 
knew ;  and  cold  pheasant  and  Charlotte  Russe  are 
most  uncommon  incidents,  either  at  an  Orphanage 
or  in  the  daily  fare  of  a  governess,  and  very  raising 
to  the  spirits.  Besides,  it  would  have  been  really 
ungrateful  to  resist  the  spell  of  Mr.  Privett' s  kindness 
and  attention,  and  the  merriment  of  his  little  twinkling 
eyes,  as  he  told  funny  stories  that  needed  no  answer 
except  laughter.  Margery  found  herself  a  different 
person  at  the  end  of  a  few  minutes  ;  it  was  not  long 
before  she  was  laughing  as  she  had  not  done  for  months. 
A  glass  of  port,  which  Uncle  Theophilus  insisted  on 
administering — the  first  she  had  ever  tasted  in  her 
life — brought  the  colour  to  her  pale  cheeks  and  an 
unusual  light  into  her  big  eyes.  She  looked  a  different 
girl  altogether  when  they  went  back  to  the  library  ; 
and  Mr.  Privett,  trotting  at  her  side  with  his  bald 
pink  head  only  just  above  the  level  of  her  shoulder, 
kept  glancing  at  her  with  a  curious  expression. 

The  tree  was  very  nearly  finished.  A  couple  of 
men-servants,  sulky  but  cowed,  were  working  un- 
commonly hard  under  their  master's  eye,  with  his 
loud  voice  shouting  rather  confused  and  contradictory 
directions,  and  rising  an  extra  note  or  two  whenever 

33  3 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

they  made  a  mistake.  Flora,  yawning  in  a  chair 
by  the  fire,  threw  out  an  occasional  fretful  suggestion. 
Mrs.  Croome,  sitting  very  upright  opposite  her,  stared 
at  Margery  as  she  returned  with  her  escort,  with  hard, 
sharp  eyes  that  were  by  no  means  pleased. 

"  There  will  be  nothing  more  for  you  to  do,  Miss 
Lennard,  thank  you,"  she  said  acidly.  "  You  had 
better  go  to  bed.  Good-night !  " 

"  Good-night !  "  said  Uncle  Theophilus,  giving  her 
hand  a  warm  clasp  in  his  fat,  podgy  palm,  and  beaming 
at  her  benevolently. 

Flora  nodded  carelessly,  without  speaking.  Mr. 
Croome  was  far  too  much  occupied  with  a  mistake 
that  had  just  been  made  in  some  arrangement  at  the 
very  top  of  the  tree,  to  take  the  smallest  notice  of 
anyone  but  the  delinquent  who  had  made  it ;  and  for 
that  Margery  was  devoutly  thankful.  She  slipped 
softly  out  of  the  room  and  up  the  stairs,  very  tired, 
but  lighter  of  heart  than  she  had  been  for  many  a 
day.  After  all,  Christmas  was  a  happy  time,  wherever 
it  was  spent ;  those  old  Christmases  at  the  Orphanage 
had  had  much  about  them  that  was  very  pleasant. 
She  hoped  that  the  twins,  sleeping  now  like  a  pair 
of  angels,  would  like  the  tiny  presents  she  had  for  them. 
Perhaps  her  little  offerings  might  not  be  altogether 
despised  if  she  gave  them  the  very  first  thing,  before 
the  rush  of  more  notable  gifts  set  in.  And  she  was 
really  looking  forward  to  the  lighting  of  the  beautiful 
tree.  Whatever  the  early  part  of  the  day  might  bring 
her,  the  evening  at  least  must  hold  abundant 
pleasure  and  merriment,  even  for  a  governess  who  was 

.34 


Christmas  Preparations 

nobody  at  all.  How  kind  Mr.  Privett  had  been  to 
her  !  Margery  thought  very  gratefully  of  him,  as  she 
brushed  out  her  black  hair ;  but  her  last  thought,  as 
she  laid  her  tired  head  on  the  pillow  and  promptly 
fell  asleep,  was  a  remembrance  of  the  other  man  who 
had  been  kind  earlier  in  the  day,  and  whose  gay  blue 
eyes  followed  her  into  the  land  of  dreams. 


35  3* 


CHAPTER  III 

CHRISTMAS  DAY 

CHRISTMAS  morning  dawned  bright,  clear, 
altogether  charming.  The  twins  were  still 
asleep  when  Margery  slipped  out  quietly  to  an  early 
service ;  but  her  return  was  heralded  by  voices  shrill 
with  ecstasy,  and  not,  as  was  more  usual,  with  fretful- 
ness.  Amabel  was  sitting  up  in  bed,  examining 
minutely  the  doll  which  she  had  found  tied  with  a  gay 
ribbon  to  her  bedpost :  a  very  unpretentious  doll, 
for  Margery's  purse  was  slender  enough,  but  beauti- 
fully dressed  in  the  daintiest  of  simple  clothes,  all  set 
with  faultless  tiny  stitches.  The  Orphanage,  while 
bowing  to  the  modern  craze  for  "  stiff kets,"  was  old- 
fashioned  enough  to  teach  needlework  as  a  fine  art. 

"  They  all  take  on  and  off,  with  real  buttons  and 
things  prop'ly  sewn  on  !  "  screamed  the  enraptured 
Amabel,  who  had  learnt  to  suspect  these  intimate 
details  in  the  course  of  acquiring  a  large  family  of 
expensive  shop- dolls,  and  who,  under  all  her  affecta- 
tions, had  some  fragments  of  the  true  little-girl  spirit 
left.  "  Oh,  Miss  Lennard,  you  darling !  Did  you 
really  do  it  all  yourself  ?  Then  1  do  want  to  learn  to 
sew,  after  all !  " 

36 


Christmas  Day 

Cedric  came  flying  from  the  inner  room  and  cast 
himself  rapturously  upon  Margery. 

"  You  were  a  brick  to  remember  me  saying  that  no 
one  had  ever  given  me  any  !  "  he  cried,  with  a  stick 
of  Plasticine  in  each  hand.  "  And — and  you  may 
kiss  me,  if  you  like,  'cos  it's  Christmas  !  " 

Margery  complied,  laughing.  "  And  such  a  lovely, 
bright  Christmas,  too,"  she  said.  "  But  don't  either 
of  you  begin  the  day  by  catching  cold  !  "  for  Amabel 
was  also  scrambling  hastily  from  her  bed,  with  flying 
pigtails.  "  Now,  who  is  going  to  be  dressed  first  ?  " 

"  Me  !  "  screamed  the  twins  in  shrill  unison  ;  and 
Cedric  beat  a  hasty  retreat. 

The  kindly  season  seemed  to  have  spread  its  genial 
influence  all  around,  even  so  early  in  the  morning. 
Dressing,  with  all  its  tribulations  of  tooth-brushes  and 
the  combing  of  tangled  curls,  was  got  through  with- 
out a  murmur  ;  and  two  faces  that  were  actually  bright 
and  child-Like  appeared  one  on  either  side  of  Margery 
as  they  sat  at  breakfast. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  gave  us  our  things  early,  and 
didn't  put  them  on  the  tree  with  all  the  rest,"  said 
Amabel,  feeding  her  doll  with  maternal  care,  and  a 
thorough  appreciation  of  the  fact  that  it  was  provided 
with  a  real  baby's  bib. 

"  Hurry  up  !  Hurry  up !  "  cried  Cedric,  eyeing  his 
box  with  devouring  eyes.  He  could  hardly  bear  to 
waste  time  over  mere  food,  with  those  entrancing, 
putty-like  sticks  lying  ready  to  his  hand. 

The  post  had  brought  Margery  all  that  she  expected 
in  the  way  of  cards  and  letters  from  old  schoolfellows 

37 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

and  teachers ;  and  more,  a  little  brooch  from  one  of 
the  former,  who  had  married  just  after  leaving  the 
orphanage.  So  peace  and  goodwill  reigned  quite 
seasonably  in  the  schoolroom,  until  the  appearance 
of  Mrs.  Croome,  splendid  in  a  rustling  gown,  whose 
opulence  might  be  reckoned  on  to  attract  attention, 
even  in  the  fashionable  rich  church  which  she  was 
accustomed  to  patronise. 

"  Merry  Christmas,  mother !  and  just  look  at 
these  !  "  shrieked  the  twins,  flinging  themselves  upon 
her.  Margery  could  not  help  wincing  a  little  at  the 
cool,  appraising  glance  which  Mrs.  Croome  bestowed 
on  her  poor  little  presents  ;  it  seemed  to  her  that 
even  the  children  were  aware  of  it,  and  that  their 
pleasure  in  them  was  less  from  that  moment. 

"  Very  nice,  children  !  Very  kind  of  Miss  Lennard  !  " 
said  Mrs.  Croome.  "  Though  I  should  have  thought 
you  had  plenty  of  dolls  already,  Amabel ;  and,  Cedric, 
don't  spoil  any  more  clothes  with  that  stuff !  Miss 
Lennard,  I  daresay  the  children  have  told  you  that  I 
always  take  them  to  church  with  me  on  Christmas 
morning.  I  have  old-fashioned  ideas  about  Christmas, 
you  know,"  with  one  of  her  tight  little  smiles.  "  I 
hold  very  strongly  that  it  should  be  quite  a  simple 
family  festival.  I'm  sure  you  agree  with  me." 

"  Yes,"  murmured  Margery. 

"  My  husband  and  I  simply  devote  the  day  to  each 
other  and  our  children  ;  in  fact,  we  should  think  it 
quite  wicked  to  accept  outside  invitations,"  said  Mrs. 
Croome  virtuously.  "  I  cannot  understand  the  people 
who  dine  at  clubs  and  restaurants  on  such  a  day, 

38 


Christmas  Day 

instead  of  staying  happily  at  home,  as  we  were  un- 
doubtedly meant  to  do.  But,  then,  as  I  said,  I  am 
an  old-fashioned  person  !  "  She  gave  a  little  twitch 
to  her  skirt,  which  certainly  could  have  made  no 
similar  claim. 

There  did  not  seem  anything  for  Margery  to  say  ; 
so  she  stood  silent. 

"  It  should,  above  all,"  said  Mrs.  Croome,  "  be  a 
day  of  unity,  and  thought  for  others.  I  always  make  a 
point  of  allowing  a  certain  number  of  the  servants  to 
go  out  for  some  part  of  the  day  when  they  can  be  spared 
— of  course,  this  does  not  apply  to  the  cook  and  kitchen- 
maid,  who,  naturally,  are  more  occupied  than  on  any 
other  day  in  the  year.  But  the  under-housemaid, 
who  waits  on  the  schoolroom,  can  quite  well  be 
allowed  to  have  the  morning  off — I  daresay  you  will 
notice  that  the  room  has  not  been  dusted ;  in  fact, 
I  hoped  that  you  might  have  understood,  and " 

"  I  will  dust  the  room  with  pleasure,  if  you  wish," 
said  Margery  quietly.  "  Shall  I  wash  up  the  breakfast- 
things  too  ?  " 

"  You  are  always  so  kind,  even  if  you  do  not  under- 
stand quite  at  the  very  outset !  "  said  Mrs.  Croome,  with 
her  little  thin  smile.  "  Yes,  if  you  will  do  that,  and — 
of  course,  there  are  the  beds  to  be  made,  and  so  on — 
I  don't  suggest,  by  the  way,  that  you  should  go  to 
church  with  us,  because  I  know  you  prefer  the  Parish 
Church,  where  you  always  go." 

"  Yes,  thank  you,"  Margery  hastened  to  assent. 

"  So  please  have  the  children  ready  in  the  hall  at 
a  quarter  to  eleven ;  and,  of  course,  you  will  be  in 

39 


The  Real   Mrs.  Holyer 

quite  in  time  to  get  them  ready  for  lunch,"  said  Mrs. 
Croome,  and  sailed  benignantly  out  of  the  room. 

It  was  not  exactly  the  programme  that  Margery 
had  planned  out  for  herself.  She  would  scarcely 
have  put  on  her  one  pretty  dress  if  she  had  foreseen 
that  she  would  have  to  play  housemaid.  However,  it 
was  a  small  matter  to  change  that  and  get  the  rooms 
in  neat  order,  even  if  it  did  involve  rather  a  rush  to 
change  again  and  have  the  twins  ready  by  church- 
time.  What  troubled  her  much  more  was  that  she 
had  intended  to  have  a  quiet  half -hour  with  them,  in 
which  to  implant  some  few  fresh  ideas  as  to  the  real 
meaning  of  the  day  :  for  she  had  been  more  than  a  little 
horrified  at  their  views,  as  detailed  so  frankly  to  her 
the  day  before.  But  this  was  now,  of  course,  quite 
out  of  the  question.  The  very  little  for  which  it  was 
possible  to  find  time  had  to  be  sandwiched  in  during 
the  process  of  dressing,  when  both  were  in  a  fidget 
to  be  off.  She  could  scarcely  be  sure  that  they  even 
listened  to  her  at  all. 

It  was  quiet  and  peaceful,  if  a  little  lonely,  to  go  by 
herself  to  the  old-fashioned  Parish  Church,  which  had 
been  gradually  deserted  by  half  its  lawful  congregation 
for  the  florid  attractions  of  St.  Ethelswitha's,  ten 
minutes  away.  Margery  was  a  little  late — not  through 
any  fault  of  her  own,  but  because  Mrs.  Croome  had 
not  chosen  to  put  in  an  appearance  until  the  bells 
had  almost  ceased  ringing,  and  it  was  impossible 
to  say  what  the  twins  might  find  to  do  if  left  by  them- 
selves to  wait  for  her.  Would  they  behave  well, 
and  be  a  credit  to  her  ?  Margery  found  herself  wonder- 

40 


Christmas  Day 

ing  anxiously.  There  had  been  much  room  for  im- 
provement in  their  ecclesiastical  conduct  when  they 
had  first  fallen  into  her  hands ;  but  she  really  hoped 
that  they  were  a  little  better  by  this  time.  She  missed 
them  a  good  deal.  She  had  grown  used  to  finding  the 
places  in  their  Prayer  Books,  to  the  feeling  of  Cedric's 
curls  rubbing  against  her  shoulder  during  the  sermon  ; 
she  hoped  that  there  would  be  a  sermon  which  they 
could  understand,  and  hymns  which  they  knew  well 
enough  to  sing  creditably.  They  were,  in  fact,  in 
her  thoughts  more  or  less  all  the  service  through ;  and 
it  was  perhaps  only  human  to  be  pleased  to  find,  when 
they  met  again,  that  the  twins  had  swerved  from  their 
earlier  preference  for  St.  Ethelswitha,  and  both  openly 
wished  that  they  had  gone  with  her  instead.  The 
order  of  the  service  had  been  unusual,  and  had  baulked 
them  in  their  new  and  proud  accomplishment  of 
finding  a  certain  proportion  of  places  for  themselves  ; 
and  the  Saxon  saint  had  given  deep  offence  by  proving 
too  modern  for  the  old  hymns  that  all  children  love. 

"  We  didn't  have  any  '  Herald  Angels '  at  all !  "  said 
Cedric,  swelling  under  a  sense  of  fraud.  "  Don't  want 
to  go  there  any  more  !  " 

They  were,  however,  well  spoken  of  for  good  be- 
haviour. "  In  fact,"  said  Mr.  Privett,  who  was  of  the 
party,  and  whose  silk  hat  shone  almost  as  brilliantly  as 
his  bald  head,  "  I  feel  that  Miss  Lennard  ought  to  be 
congratulated,  for  I  never  saw  them  so  little  trouble." 

"  You  don't  know  how  we  behave  in  church !  " 
said  Amabel  pertly.  "  You  never  came  with  us 
before ! "  Whereat  Mr.  Privett  looked,  for  some 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

reason,  ever  so  slightly  foolish.  His  little  bright  eyes 
stole  a  quick  glance  at  Margery,  and  then  as  quickly 
looked  away  again. 

"  Now  real  Christmas  begins  !  "  said  Cedric,  proceed 
ing  upstairs  in  a  series  of  little  hops,  supporting  himself 
between  Margery  and  the  banisters. 

"  Oh,  Cedric  !  Have  you  forgotten  already  what  I 
said  while  you  were  getting  ready  for  church  ?  "  said 
Margery,  very  gently  and  timidly.  She  was  extremely 
shy  in  all  matters  connected  with  religion.  It  was  a 
genuine  ordeal  to  discuss  such  subjects,  even  from  the 
most  conscientious  of  motives  ;  and  the  little  Croomes 
were  not  the  sort  of  children  to  make  her  task  any 
easier. 

Cedric's  hard  little  face  softened  a  little,  however, 
as  he  looked  up  at  her. 

"  No,  Miss  Lennard ;  and  I  did  try  to  think  about 
it  in  church — only  it  seemed  a  different  sort  of  Christ- 
mas there  from  yours.  And  it  isn't  church-time  any 
more  now  till  next  Sunday  !  " 

"  No,"  Amabel  chimed  in  shrilly.  "  Now  it's  turkey 
and  presents  and  things  for  all  the  rest  of  the  day  ! 
Mind  you  don't  eat  too  much  at  lunch-time,  Cedric. 
Remember,  it  isn't  our  dinner  to-day." 

"  /  shan't  forget !  "  said  Cedric,  affronted.  "  You 
always  forget  much  more  than  me  !  " 

The  point  of  view  amused  Mr.  Privett  vastly,  when 
the  twins  started  lunch  with  a  solemn  warning  to  each 
other,  repeated  at  intervals  throughout  the  meal. 
Mr.  Croome,  who  was  apt  during  the  daytime  to  be  a 
trifle  dull  and  heavy  in  any  matter  that  had  no  con- 

42 


Christmas  Day 

nection  with  business  interests,  did  not  grasp  the  point  at 
all  at  first,  and  was  inclined  to  think  that  his  two 
youngest  were  sickening  for  something ;  but,  having 
once  been  made  to  understand,  was  consumed  with 
extreme  appreciation  of  the  joke,  and  laughed 
boisterously  about  it  at  intervals  all  the  rest  of  the 
time  they  were  at  table.  Altogether,  it  was  quite  a 
jovial  meal,  compared  with  the  usual  frigid  dulness 
that  prevailed  when  only  the  ladies  of  the  family  were 
at  home.  Margery,  who  sat  next  to  Mr.  Privet^ 
found  him  a  very  agreeable  change  indeed ;  for  he 
talked  to  her  quite  as  if  he  considered  her  to  be  just 
another  guest,  like  himself,  and  his  fat,  merry  chuckle 
was  most  infectious.  She  was  really  sorry,  for  once, 
when  lunch  was  over ;  whereas  her  general  feeling  was 
pure  relief  at  being  able  to  escape  with  the  children 
to  their  own  domain  upstairs. 

"  I  always  like  them  to  lie  down  for  the  afternoon, 
Miss  Lennard,  when  they  are  going  to  be  up  so  late," 
said  Mrs.  Croome.  "  Please  put  them  to  bed  in  about 
half  an  hour,  and  see  that  they  stay  there  till  tea- 
time." 

"  Oh,  I  say !  We're  not  babies  now !  "  protested 
Cedric,  very  cross  all  in  a  moment.  But  Amabel 
accepted  the  position  as  being  rather  flattering. 

"  Flora  always  lies  down  before  a  ball.  It's  quite 
a  grown-up  thing  to  do,"  she  said.  "  Besides,  we've 
nothing  particular  to  do  indoors,  and  there's  nothing  at 
all  to  go  out  for,  and  if  we  go  to  sleep  it  will  be  the 
evening  quicker !  " 

"  /  shan't  go  to  sleep  !  "  growled  Cedric,  following 

43 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

crossly.  But  his  resolution  proved  not  to  be  proof 
against  a  darkened  room  and  the  drowsy  comfort  of 
bed  on  a  cold  day.  For  more  than  ten  minutes  eager 
chatter  went  on  between  the  two  rooms,  with  the 
word  "  tree "  occurring  in  every  other  sentence ; 
then  longer  and  longer  pauses  came,  and  presently 
Margery,  looking  cautiously  in,  saw  two  peacefully 
recumbent  figures,  each  with  a  cheek  pillowed  on  a 
Teddy  bear. 

She  was  not  sorry  to  have  an  hour's  peace.  She 
had  letters  to  write,  in  answer  to  those  that  had  come 
in  the  morning  ;  and  after  that  it  was  pleasant  enough 
to  sit  by  the  schoolroom  fire  with  a  book,  and  give  half 
her  attention  to  that  and  half  to  pleasant  anticipations 
of  the  evening.  She  was  really  looking  forward  ex- 
tremely, with  almost  as  much  pleasure  as  the  children, 
to  seeing  that  beautiful  tree  lighted  up,  and  taking  a 
modest  pleasure  in  the  work  of  her  own  tasteful  hands. 
Her  life  had  always  been  so  monotonous  that  really 
this  was  one  of  the  greatest  excitements  she  had  ever 
known,  except  for  the  rather  terrible  events  of  prize- 
giving  days  at  school ;  and  those  had  been  entirely  spoilt 
for  her  by  natural  shyness  and  dislike  of  being  shown 
off  as  a  star  pupil,  who  had  many  prizes  to  receive, 
and  some  dreadfully  alarming  public  performance 
to  go  through  on  the  piano,  with  the  coldest  of  shaking 
hands.  But  this  evening  would  have  no  such  terrors  : 
only  the  amusement  of  seeing  the  tree,  and  watching 
the  distribution  and  unwrapping  of  the  parcels.  It 
never  entered  her  head  that  any  of  them  would  be  for 
herself — in  fact,  no  expectations  could  well  have  been 

44 


Christmas  Day 

more  modest  than  Margery's.  She  only  wanted  to  be 
somewhere  in  the  background  and  watch  other  people's 
pleasure  ;  and  in  that  unexacting  manner  she  reckoned 
on  enjoying  herself  very  much.  It  did  just  cross  her 
mind  to  wonder  whether  she  would  possibly  be  bidden 
downstairs  with  the  twins  to  dinner ;  but  she  did  not 
really  expect  such  a  thing,  or,  indeed,  greatly  wish 
for  it — its  drawbacks  would  almost  certainly  counter- 
balance its  advantages.  She  would  really  prefer  to 
have  her  supper  quietly  upstairs  as  usual.  The  only 
thing  that  would  be  a  great  and  unadulterated  joy 
would  be  if  possibly  Mrs.  Croome  might  suggest  her 
going  down  first  into  the  library  to  light  the  candles. 
She  would  certainly  enjoy  that  very  much  indeed. 
It  would  be  delightful  to  see  everyone  come  in,  and 
hear  exactly  what  they  thought  of  the  first  sight  of 
her  handiwork. 

The  arrival  of  the  schoolroom  tea  put  a  sudden  end 
to  her  meditations :  a  thorough  Christmas  tea,  with 
each  child's  favourite  sort  of  jam,  and  a  large  iced  cake, 
with  "  A  Merry  Xmas  "  in  pink  lettering  on  the  top. 
The  charms  of  this  almost  melted  Amabel's  resolution, 
and  she  gazed  at  it,  when  she  came  in  from  her  sleep, 
with  very  longing  eyes ;  but  Cedric,  who  had  all  the 
makings  of  a  gourmet  of  the  highest  type,  was  very 
stern  with  her.  "  What's  the  use,"  he  demanded 
fiercely,  "  of  having  only  half  your  lunch,  and  then 
spoiling  it  all  by  a  big  tea  ?  " 

"  But  I'm  hungry,"  said  Amabel  plaintively,  with 
eyes  fixed  on  that  entrancing  pink  lettering. 

"  So'm  I,"  said  Cedric.     "  But  I'm  only  going  to 

45 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

have  two  pieces  of  bread-and-butter,  and  nothing  else 
at  all." 

"  Not  even  jam  ? "  suggested  Margery,  much 
amused. 

"  Jam !  "  said  Cedric  scornfully,  though  his  eyes 
wavered  for  a  moment  as  they  fell  on  apricot  kernels 
floating  in  a  yellow  sea.  "  Jam — when  there's  turkey 
coming  !  " 

Margery  respectfully  concealed  her  feelings,  and 
made  no  further  attempt  to  beguile  the  gastronomic 
hero ;  and  Amabel,  fired  by  his  example,  bravely 
munched  bread-and-butter  too,  and  only  devoured  the 
dainties  with  her  eyes.  But  it  was  a  severe  trial  to 
the  constancy  of  any  juvenile  mind,  and  when  Margery 
sought  to  console  the  self-made  martyrs  by  some 
further  reference  to  their  coming  reward,  Cedric  could 
not  bear  it. 

"  Don't  f"  he  exclaimed.  "  It's  three  hours  off 
yet — and  I  feel  all  hollow  inside,  and  I  don't  know  how 
I'm  ever  going  to  live  till  then  !  " 

"  Suppose  we  did  die  first,  and  never  had  our  dinner  !  " 
said  Amabel,  with  appalled,  round  eyes.  And  even 
Cedric's  resolution  faltered  before  the  terrible  suggestion. 

"  I  suppose  we  shan't  starve,  quite,  before  then, 
Miss  Lennard  ?  "  he  said,  in  a  voice  that  was  not  so 
careless  as  it  was  intended  to  be. 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Margery,  with  most  reassuring 
decision :  though  her  voice,  for  some  reason,  was 
perhaps  a  trifle  less  steady  than  usual,  so  that  Cedric 
looked  at  her  with  sharp  suspicion.  "  Come,  let's 
talk  about  the  tree  instead  !  " 

46 


Christmas  Day 

"  You've  seen  it,  haven't  you  ?  "  said  Amabel,  with 
a  hungry,  pathetic  sigh. 

"  Yes.  But  not  when  it  was  quite  finished,"  said 
Margery.  "  And,  do  you  know,  I  have  never  seen  a 
Christmas-tree  lighted  up  in  all  my  life  !  " 

The  twins'  attention  was  fairly  diverted  by  this 
astounding  statement.  Amabel's  shrill  surprise  was 
quite  ear-piercing,  and  Cedric  began  an  insistent 
catechism  of  "But  why,  Miss  Lennard  ?  Why?" 
It  took  them  quite  a  long  time  to  realize  that  there 
were  in  existence  many  children  who  never  had  a 
Christmas-tree,  either  at  their  own  homes  or  at  other 
people's  parties.  When  that  remarkable  fact  had 
fairly  sunk  in,  both  were  all  eagerness  to  describe  what 
Margery  might  expect  to  see,  and  dilate  upon  its 
glories,  and  impress  upon  her  the  knowledge  that 
their  tree  was  always  vastly  superior  to  any  other  that 
they  ever  met  with  elsewhere. 

By  that  time  tea  was  over,  and  the  hands  of  the 
clock  were  discovered  to  have  moved  on  really  a 
delightfully  appreciable  piece.  Amabel  began  to 
fidget  to  be  dressed  for  dinner  at  once ;  and  Margery 
was  driven  to  put  her  off  as  long  as  possible  by  a  series 
of  stratagems,  knowing  only  too  well  what  would  be 
the  condition  of  best  garments,  if  they  were  worn  in  the 
schoolroom  for  an  impatient  hour  or  so  before  going 
downstairs.  It  was  no  easy  matter  to  manage,  and 
she  was  quite  as  much  relieved  as  the  twins  when  at 
last  the  time  came  when  it  was  admissible,  if  one 
spread  out  each  duty  of  the  toilet  sufficiently,  to  begin. 
So  she  brushed  Amabel's  long  locks  until  they  looked 

47 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

their  very  best,  and  dealt  faithfully  with  Cedric's  every 
curl,  and  insisted  on  the  most  intimate  attention  being 
paid  to  foolish  and  irritating  details,  such  as  the 
cleanliness  of  one's  nails ;  and  was  quite  ready,  after 
such  an  exhausting  two  hours,  to  echo  their  sighs  of 
relief  when  at  last  they  could  fairly  be  allowed  to  go 
down.  It  was  an  additional  relief,  moreover,  that  no 
summons  had  come  for  her  also  to  dine  downstairs. 
Now,  if  only  a  message  would  come  bidding  her  to 
undertake  the  lighting  of  the  Christmas-tree  candles, 
she  would  have  nothing  left  to  wish  for. 

The  thought  was  in  her  mind,  and  she  was  still  busy 
putting  away  the  twins'  Sunday  clothes,  when  a 
rustling  outside,  and  the  sharp  opening  of  the  door, 
heralded  Mrs.  Croome's  entrance.  Margery  turned* 
with  a  smile  of  expectation  on  her  lips,  to  greet  the 
gorgeous  vision.  Mrs.  Croome  was  shimmering  in 
splendour  from  the  diamond  osprey  in  her  hair  to  the 
pointed  golden  shoes  on  her  feet ;  she  wore  a  brand- 
new  gown  of  gold  brocade,  and  a  brand  new  diamond 
necklace  which  had  been  her  husband's  Christmas 
present. 

"  What !  Have  the  children  gone  down  already  ?  " 
she  said,  with  a  sharp  glance  at  the  clock. 

"  They  were  so  very  anxious  to  go,  and  it 
was  only  five  minutes  too  soon,"  said  Margery 
humbly. 

"  Well,  I  hope  they  are  in  no  mischief !  "  was  Mrs. 
Croome's  cold  rejoinder.  "  I  only  looked  in  on  my 
way  down,  Miss  Lennard,  to  say  that,  of  course,  they 
will  be  quite  late  coming  to  bed  to-night.  You  need 

48 


Christmas   Day 

not  be  surprised  if  you  do  not  see  them  again  before 
midnight !  " 

Something  in  Margery's  face  seemed  to  make  her 
ever  so  little  uncomfortable.  Her  hard  eyes  flickered. 
There  was  almost  a  suggestion  of  embarrassment  in  her 
tone  as  she  went  on  : 

"  You  will  have  quite  a  nice  little  holiday  from 
them — you  know,  I  told  you  this  morning  that  I  always 
like  all  my  household,  whenever  it  is  practicable,  to 
have  a  little  time  to  themselves  on  Christmas  Day. 
Good-night !  " 

The  door  closed  sharply  again.  At  the  very  last 
she  had  not  seemed  able  to  meet  Margery's  wide-eyed, 
astonished,  grieved  gaze  at  all. 

For  a  couple  of  minutes  the  girl  stood  quite  still, 
just  as  she  had  been  left.  Then  she  went  dumbly  into 
the  adjoining  room,  and  threw  herself  face  downwards 
on  her  bed.  It  was  probably  ridiculous  to  take  such  a 
disappointment  so  hard ;  but  Margery  was  only 
eighteen,  after  all,  and  so  few  pleasures  came  in  her 
way  that  she  had  built  upon  this  one  to  quite  an 
unreasonable  extent.  It  had  never  occurred  to  her 
that  she  was  to  be  shut  out  altogether  from  the 
evening's  amusement ;  and,  after  all,  her  highest 
hopes  had  in  all  conscience  been  modest  enough — 
only  to  light  the  candles  and  then  watch  other  people 
enjoying  themselves.  She  quite  understood  that  this 
was  Mrs.  Croome's  method  of  making  her  pay  for  the 
kindness  of  Mr.  Privett  and  Mr.  Croome  last  night. 

She  lay  quite  still  until  she  was  chilled  through,  and 
there  was  the  sound  of  a  jingling  tray  being  put  down 

49  4 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

in  the  schoolroom.  Then  she  got  up,  and  brushed  her 
hair  and  washed  her  hands,  preparing  philosophically 
for  her  solitary  supper.  After  all,  it  was  very  foolish 
to  mind  so  much,  especially  as  there  was  no  help  for 
it.  Her  evening  would  be  dull  and  lonely,  of  course, 
when  she  had  hoped  for  something  different ;  but  by 
the  next  morning  it  would  all  be  over,  just  as  it  would 
have  been  if  it  had  been  a  time  of  thorough  enjoyment. 
The  school  in  which  she  had  been  brought  up — by  which 
is  implied  no  reflection  on  the  excellent  Orphanage — 
teaches  its  pupils  an  astonishing  amount  of  stoicism 
quite  early  in  life.  She  had  a  book  to  read  which 
interested  her.  She  had  spent  plenty  of  quiet,  cosy 
evenings  by  no  means  unhappily  over  the  schoolroom 
fire  before  now,  and  this  one  would  be  no  exception 
to  the  general  rule.  Besides,  it  would  have  its  little 
superiority,  after  all.  The  smell  of  the  Christmas 
dinner  was  rising  up  from  below  in  the  most  savoury 
and  appetizing  fashion  ;  and  Margery  really  was,  when 
all  was  said  and  done,  only  a  schoolgirl,  with  a  fine, 
healthy  appetite  that  had  never  been  spoilt  by 
luxuries. 

She  went  back  into  the  schoolroom  with  quite  a 
remnant  of  interest  in  life,  after  all,  and  put  out  her 
hand  to  take  off  the  cover  and  see  what  had  been  sent 
her. 

There  was  no  cover  to  take  off. 

There  were  two  little  slices  of  cold  mutton  on  one 
plate,  and  a  piece  of  bread  on  another.  There  was 
half  a  cold  rice-pudding ;  and  there  was  a  glass  of 
water. 

50 


Christmas  Day 

Kitchen  and  servants'  hall  are  quick  enough  to  note 
and  follow  the  example  of  the  drawing-room.  The 
powers  that  ruled  the  basement  had  not  approved, 
any  more  than  their  mistress,  the  manner  in  which 
Margery  had  been  pampered  the  night  before,  and 
were  quite  as  ready  to  point  their  moral. 

The  fire  had  burnt  quite  low,  and  there  was  nothing 
in  the  coal-box  but  a  little  dust.  Margery  had  noticed 
this  earlier  in  the  day,  but  had  not  thought  it  worth 
while  to  ask  for  a  fresh  supply,  since  she  and  the 
children  would  be  spending  their  evening  downstairs. 
She  knew  by  experience  that  it  was  quite  useless  to 
ring — the  schoolroom  bell  was  never  answered.  She 
sat  down  quite  suddenly  in  the  nearest  chair,  and 
burst  into  forlorn,  childish  tears. 

Downstairs  the  Christmas  dinner  progressed  like 
other  Christmas  dinners.  The  twins,  avenging  them- 
selves for  their  day's  abstinence,  ate  and  drank  glut- 
tonously of  everything  rich  and  tempting  that  came 
in  their  way.  Flora,  for  all  her  fine-lady  airs  and 
graces,  was  not  so  far  behind  them  when  it  came  to 
actual  execution.  Mr.  Croome  reached  even  earlier 
than  usual  the  stage  of  glazed  eyes  and  empurpled 
cheeks.  Mrs.  Croome,  her  sharp  eyes  everywhere  to 
see  that  nothing  was  lacking — it  was  a  very  fine  Christ- 
mas dinner  indeed,  with  everything  in  profusion  that 
the  greediest  heart  could  wish — enjoyed  her  meal  with 
a  satisfaction  that  was  by  no  means  impaired  by  the 
recollection  of  the  girl  upstairs.  Only  Mr.  Privett, 
in  fact,  spared  her  a  thought  at  all. 

5i  4* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  What  has  become  of  Miss  Lennard,  hey,  Selina  ?  " 
he  asked,  with  something  of  disappointment  in  his 
tone. 

"  Miss  Lennard  never  dines  downstairs,"  said  Mrs. 
Croome  a  little  stiffly. 

"  Not  even  on  Christmas  Day  ? "  suggested  Mr. 
Privett  rather  drily. 

"  I  always  think  a  strictly  family  party  like  this 
is  the  most  uninteresting  thing  in  the  world  for  an 
outsider,"  said  Mrs.  Croome,  airing  her  theories  afresh 
with  composure.  "  I  supposed  it  would  really  be  more 
change  for  her  to  be  free  of  the  children  altogether, 
so  I  gave  her  a  holiday  for  the  evening." 

"  Oh  !  of  course,  if  she  has  her  own  friends  to  go  to, 
that's  all  right,"  said  Uncle  Theophilus. 

Mrs.  Croome  said  nothing.  There  was  no  embarrass- 
ment in  her  manner  as  she  helped  herself  to  more 
bread  sauce. 

"  Why,  won't  Miss  Lennard  be  coming  down  to  see 
the  tree  ?  "  burst  out  Cedric  in  accents  of  bitter  dis- 
appointment. "  Oh,  and  we  told  her  all  about  it,  and 
she  had  never  seen  one  all  lighted  up,  and  she  was 
looking  forward  to  it  so  !  " 

"  Christmas-trees  don't  mean  so  much  to  grown-ups 
as  to  you  young  shavers,  you  know,"  said  Uncle 
Theophilus  good-naturedly.  "  You  mustn't  grudge 
Miss  Lennard  a  little  time  with  her  own  friends.  It 
means  more  than  a  tree  to  her,  I  daresay." 

The  tree  turned  out  an  unqualified  success,  like  the 
dinner.  It  shone  and  sparkled  almost  as  brilliantly, 
in  the  light  of  its  many  candles,  as  the  mistress  of  the 

52 


Christmas  Day 

house ;  its  decorations  left  nothing  to  be  desired,  and 
Margery's  taste  received  abundant  commendation. 
Only  Uncle  Theophilus,  in  one  small  matter,  infringed 
the  accustomed  etiquette  ;  for  he  was  observed,  with  a 
pair  of  shining  scissors,  removing  an  unostentatious 
little  parcel  from  an  inconspicuous  branch. 

"  Oh,  Uncle  Theophilus,  you  mustn't  do  that !  " 
reproved  Amabel,  who  had  been  a  stickler  for  the 
conventions  from  her  cradle.  "  We  don't  take  our 
own  things ;  we  wait  for  them  to  be  given  to  us ! 
No  one  touches  anything  except  mother,  and  she 
always  begins  at  the  top  of  the  tree,  and  works 
down  !  " 

"  Sorry,  Amabel.  I  won't  touch  anything  else,  I 
promise,"  said  Uncle  Theophilus  penitently.  But  he 
did  not  offer  to  replace  what  he  had  already  taken. 

The  presents  gave  universal  satisfaction.  Those 
from  Uncle  Theophilus,  in  particular,  were  of  so  entirely 
fascinating  a  character  that  even  Flora  became  almost 
girlish  and  natural  in  her  enthusiasm  ;  and  Amabel 
was  moved  to  tears  by  the  reflection  that  he  was  to 
depart  the  next  day. 

"  Never  mind  !  I'm  coming  back  very  soon,"  he 
told  her  consolingly. 

"  That's  good  news  !  "  said  Mr.  Croome  heartily. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Uncle  Theophilus. 

"  Yes,  indeed  !  You  can't  come  too  often  to  please 
us,  dear  Uncle  Theophilus  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Croome,  in  a 
manner  as  nearly  gushing  as  it  was  in  her  to  achieve. 

"  You're  very  kind,  Selina,"  said  Uncle  Theophilus; 
but  his  tone,  in  this  last  sentence,  had  a  certain  curious 

53 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

quality  in  it  which  made  Mrs.  Croome  vaguely  uncom- 
fortable, she  had  not  the  faintest  idea  why.  He  was 
eyeing  her,  too,  rather  oddly  as  he  spoke,  and  feeling 
in  his  waistcoat  pocket,  as  if  he  had  put  something 
away  there,  and  wished  to  make  quite  sure  that  it  was 
safe. 

The  evening  passed  away  with  all  seasonable  merri- 
ment, and  Mr.  Privett,  in  spite  of  being  very  decidedly 
the  oldest  there,  was  the  life  and  soul  of  the  party — 
so  much  so,  in  fact,  that  it  was  quite  disconcerting 
when,  at  about  eleven  o'clock,  he  declared  suddenly 
that  he  was  tired  and  would  be  glad  to  go  to  bed. 
Even  Amabel  and  Cedric  had  only  just  begun  to 
declare,  with  quite  unnecessary  vehemence,  that  they 
were  not  in  the  least  sleepy,  and  to  excuse  their  furtive 
yawns  on  any  other  plea  than  that  of  weariness.  But 
Uncle  Theophilus  was  not  to  be  moved  by  any 
petitions,  and  being  nothing  if  not  prompt,  wasted  no 
undue  time  over  saying  good-night,  and  was  out  of  the 
room  before  some  of  the  party  quite  realized  what  had 
happened. 

The  very  best  spare  room,  with  the  inlaid  mahogany 
furniture  and  the  real  china  on  the  washstand,  was 
none  too  good  for  the  rich  uncle  ;  and  to  reach  all 
that  magnificence  he  had  only  to  mount  the  first  flight 
of  stairs  and  turn  into  the  nearest  doorway.  It  was 
therefore  quite  unnecessary  for  him  to  go  on  up  the 
second  staircase  and  traverse  all  the  long  passages 
that  led  to  the  schoolroom.  Yet  so  he  did,  imme- 
diately after  he  had  left  the  library ;  and,  the  house- 

54 


Christmas  Day 

hold  being  all  busily  occupied  in  keeping  Christmas, 
he  met  no  one. 

The  schoolroom  door  was  ajar,  and  he  pushed  it 
gently  open. 

The  fire  was  quite  out,  and  the  room  very  cold. 
Under  the  unshaded  electric  light  Margery  sat  asleep 
in  a  low  chair  by  the  fender,  her  book  slipped  from 
her  fingers,  and  traces  of  tears  on  her  cheeks.  She 
looked  pale  and  tired,  and  pinched  with  cold,  and  very 
young. 

Mr.  Privett's  button  mouth  shut  very  tightly  indeed  ; 
his  cherubic  face  assumed  a  stern  expression.  He  took 
from  his  waistcoat  pocket  a  little  parcel,  inscribed  in 
a  neat,  legible  hand :  "  Miss  Lennard ;  with  kind 
regards  and  best  wishes  from  T.  P.,"  and  put  it  very 
carefully  on  her  lap.  Then  he  looked  round,  noting 
all  details  of  the  room  attentively.  The  unfilled  coal- 
box  did  not  escape  his  notice.  He  went  to  the  table, 
and  observed  with  special  attention  the  untasted, 
forlorn  supper  which  Margery  had  not  had  the  heart 
to  touch. 

"  Confound  Selina  !  "  said  Uncle  Theophilus.  But 
he  used  a  shorter  word,  and  one  beginning  with  a 
different  letter. 


55 


CHAPTER  IV 

ONE   OF  OUR  LARGE   PARTIES 

"  T  DON'T  know  what  to  wear  ! "  said  Flora,  hovering 
1  uncertainly  from  one  side  to  the  other  of  her 
bed,  which  was  strewn  with  finery.  "  Do,  do  tell 
me  your  real  opinion,  Miss  Lennard  !  You  see,  the 
pink  is  quite  new  ;  but  then  I  always  think  I  never 
had  a  frock  that  suited  me  so  well  as  the  white  crepe. 
Then  there's  the  green  with  the  beetle- wing  embroidery, 

of  course " 

Margery  stood  considering  the  knotty  point 
seriously,  her  hands  behind  her  back.  It  was  only 
now  and  then  that  she  was  called  into  Flora's  con- 
fidence, when  no  other  more  worthy  adviser  could  be 
found.  She  always  enjoyed  these  rare  occasions. 
Flora's  room  was  so  warm  and  pretty,  with  its  per- 
petual fire  and  its  dainty  decorations ;  and  it  was  also 
interesting  to  see  and  handle  the  wonderful  clothes 
that  otherwise  only  existed  for  a  governess  on  the 
other  side  of  plate-glass  windows. 

"  You  see,  it  really  is  more  than  usually  important !  " 
said  Flora.  "  I  don't  like  to  wear  an  old  frock  at  one 
of  our  large  parties — and,  of  course,  I  have  worn  the 
white  quite  three  or  four  times.  On  the  other  hand, 

56 


One  of  our  Large  Parties 

I  don't  think  gentlemen  notice  that  sort  of  thing  very 
much  ;  and  I  do  want  to  look  my  very  best  to-night  ! 
Because  this  is  the  first  time  he's  been  here." 

"  Who  ?  "  said  Margery,  seeing,  from  Flora's  pause, 
that  the  question  was  expected  of  her. 

"  Mr.  Holyer,"  said  Flora,  with  a  conscious  flutter. 
"  Denzil  Holyer.  Don't  you  think  it  is  a  fascinating 
name,  Miss  Lennard  ?  Oh,  I  should  like  you  to  see 
him  !  He's  the  only  perfectly  handsome  man  I  ever 
saw  in  my  life.  I  met  him  first  at  the  Samuelsons', 
you  know,  and  I  heard  Mrs.  Samuelson  saying  some- 
thing about  there  being  so  many  pretty  girls  there  ; 
and  old  Lady  Marcus  answered  in  her  loud  voice  : 
'  There's  only  one  really  beautiful  person  here  to-night, 
and  that's  that  young  Holyer  fellow  !  '  Mrs.  Samuelson 
was  so  annoyed,"  said  Flora,  giggling.  "  For,  of  course, 
she  was  only  fishing  for  a  compliment  for  Beata  !  " 

"  What  is  he  like  ?  "  Margery  inquired  with  some 
interest. 

"  Oh,  very  tall,  and  fair,  with  the  loveliest  blue  eyes. 
I  suppose  I  ought  to  like  dark  men  best,  being  fair 
myself,"  said  Flora  self-consciously.  "  At  least,  so 
Horace  Holyer  says " 

"  But  I  thought  you  did  like  Mr.  Horace  Holyer 
better  than  anyone,"  said  Margery  judicially.  She 
had  no  experience  at  all  in  these  matters,  and  her 
theories  were  old-fashioned.  Flora's  point  of  view, 
therefore,  was  a  constant  perplexity  to  her,  whenever 
she  was  allowed  a  glimpse  of  it. 

"  So  I  did — before  I  saw  Denzil  Holyer  !  "  said  Flora, 
with  a  petulant  twist  of  her  shoulders.  "  That's  why 

57 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyef 

Horace  is  so  angry ;  they  are  cousins,  you  see.  It 
really  is  very  interesting  when  men  care  enough  to  be 
angry,  isn't  it,  Miss  Lennard  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Margery  simply.  "  I  don't 
know  any  men,  you  see." 

"  How  extraordinary  that  must  be  !  "  said  Flora, 
opening  wide  light  eyes  at  her,  after  a  moment's  pause 
in  which  to  assimilate  the  astounding  idea.  But  other 
people's  affairs  were  not  apt  to  afford  her  more  than 
a  fleeting  interest,  and  she  went  on  again  almost 
immediately.  "  Besides,  you  see  they  are  both  in — 
well,  in  a  better  position  than  ours,  of  course.  And 
I  don't  need  to  think  about  money — besides,  I  always 
said,  even  if  we  weren't  rich,  that  I'd  rather  marry  for 
position  than  money.  Wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  should  wait  until  I  fell  in  love  with 
someone,"  said  Margery. 

Flora's  laughter  rang  so  shrill  that  it  recalled  her 
little  sister's. 

"  Miss  Lennard  !  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,  honestly, 
that  you  would  refuse  a  really  good  match — say,  a 
very  rich  man — just  because  you  didn't  happen  to  care 
for  him  personally  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  should,"  said  Margery ;  but  she 
flushed  distressfully  at  Flora's  derision,  and  added, 
with  a  little  dignity  :  "  Though  it  is  a  cheap  enough 
thing  for  me  to  say,  of  course,  since  I  don't  think  it 
likely  that  anyone  will  ever  want  to  marry  me  at  all." 

The  question  was  quite  without  interest  for  Flora, 
when  she  had  fairly  had  her  laugh  out  at  Margery's 
extreme  simplicity.  The  love-affairs  of  a  mere 

58 


governess,  supposing  their  possible  existence  at  any 
present  or  future  time,  were  naturally  quite  immaterial 
to  her ;  and  she  returned  to  the  real  matter  of 
importance. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  wear  !  "  she  cried  again  with 
real  vexation.  "  And  you  aren't  a  bit  of  good,  Miss 
Lennard  !  I've  a  sort  of  feeling  that  he  would  like  me 
best  in  the  white  ;  and  yet  I  got  the  pink  expressly 
on  Beata  Samuelson's  account,  because  we  were  ad- 
miring the  stuff  together,  and  she  said  she  couldn't 
afford  it,  and  I  should  hate  her  to  think  that  I  had 
nothing  but  an  old  thing  to  wear " 

"  I  should  think,"  said  Margery  deliberately,  "  that 
you  will  have  to  decide  for  yourself  whether  you  want 
most  to  annoy  her  or  to  please  Mr.  Holyer.  I'm  sorry 
that  I  can't  be  of  any  help  to  you  there.  Now  I  must 
go  back  to  the  children."  For  Cedric  and  Amabel, 
having  apparently  over-eaten  themselves  even  more 
than  usual  at  their  Christmas  dinner,  had  not  escaped 
with  the  usual  mild  penalty  of  a  Boxing  Day  of  sick- 
ness, but  had  been  expiating  their  greed  in  bed  ever 
since,  with  the  doctor  in  attendance.  They  were,  of 
course,  however,  to  get  up  to-day  and  go  downstairs 
for  the  earlier  hours  of  the  party,  acquiring  inci- 
dentally any  ices  and  champagne-cup  that  might  come 
their  way.  Margery,  horrified,  and  foreseeing  a  second 
edition  of  the  past  week,  had  tried  secretly  to  get  the 
doctor  to  put  his  veto  on  this ;  but  he  had  merely 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  looked  at  her  with  a  smile 
that  Mrs.  Croome  had  certainly  never  seen. 

"It's  not  for  you  or  me,  Miss  Lennard,  to  stand 

59 


The  Real   Mrs.  Holyet 

against  a  mother's  instinct  as  to  what  is  best  for  her 
children,"  he  said ;  adding,  very  drily :  "  Besides, 
from  a  professional  point  of  view,  it  is  all  to  my  interest 
not  to  interfere  !  "  And  Margery  had  laughed  per- 
force ;  but  it  vexed  her  sorely  to  see  the  white-faced, 
fretful  pair  setting  off  on  their  way  downstairs,  and  to 
know  that  all  the  work  of  her  patient  care  and  nursing 
would  be  undone  before  she  saw  them  again. 

"  I'm  glad  it's  Music,  and  not  Dancing,"  Cedric 
had  observed  to  her  as  she  brushed  his  curls.  "  There's 
always  more  to  eat  then — because  we  don't  stay  up 
for  the  real  supper,  and  to-night  there  isn't  any  real 
supper.  But  Amabel  likes  Dancing  best." 

"  I  don't ! "  snapped  Amabel,  very  cross  and 
peevish.  She  was  the  less  robust  of  the  two,  and,  in 
her  case,  the  effects  of  Christmas  Day  had  by  no  means 
worn  off  yet.  "  I  wouldn't  dance  to-night  for  any- 
thing." 

"  That's  only  because  you've  been  sick,"  said  Cedric. 

"  Not  a  bit  sicker  than  you — so  there  !  "  cried 
Amabel. 

"  She  was  sicker  than  me — wasn't  she,  Miss 
Lennard  ?  "  appealed  Cedric  urgently. 

But  Margery  declined  to  be  drawn  into  this  contro- 
versy. She  hastened  to  suggest,  instead :  "  Well, 
don't  either  of  you  eat  too  many  sweet  things  to-night, 
or  you  may  have  some  more  days  in  bed  !  " 

"  What's  the  good  of  going  to  a  party  if  we  don't  eat 
things  ?  "  said  Cedric  indignantly. 

Margery  did  not  attempt  to  pursue  the  useless 
subject.  She  only  set  the  door  ajar,  after  they  had 

60 


One  of  our  Large  Parties 

gone,  so  that  she  might  hear  the  music  in  the  distance. 
There  was  a  very  famous  new  singer  coming  to-night 
whom  she  would  like  dearly  to  hear.  For  Margery 
was  musical  to  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  and  loved  singing 
all  the  better  because  she  herself  had  no  voice  worth 
mentioning.  She  could  hear  quite  distinctly  the 
roll  of  carriages  and  motors  outside,  and  the  buzz 
and  flutter  of  arrivals ;  and  she  wished  very  much 
that  the  house  was  so  built  that  she  might,  without 
danger  of  discovery,  have  watched  from  the  landing 
the  stream  of  guests  flowing  in.  But  it  would  have 
been  too  dangerous,  and  the  risk  of  subsequent  dis- 
grace too  serious.  So  she  sat  in  the  schoolroom,  her 
fingers  flying  over  some  needlework  for  the  children, 
and  her  ears  all  alert  for  the  first  sound  of  the  great 
singer's  voice. 

It  was  only  some  twenty  minutes  later  that  foot- 
steps hurrying  up  the  stairs  heralded  the  very  un- 
expected appearance  of  Flora ;  a  most  agitated  Flora 
in  a  white  gown,  with  flushed  cheeks  and  perturbed 
eyes. 

"  Miss  Lennard  !  Have  you  an  evening  dress  of  any 
sort  ?  "  she  cried  without  preliminary. 

Margery  stared  at  her  in  amazement,  hardly  able 
to  believe  her  ears.  She  had  expected  some  un- 
pleasant news  about  the  twins'  behaviour  or  state 
of  health  :  certainly  not  this  extraordinary  question. 

"  Yes — -just  a  plain  black  one,"  she  said  at  last. 

"  Oh,  it's  no  matter  what  it's  like — thank  goodness 
you  have  one  at  all !  "  cried  Flora,  with  a  gasp  of 
relief.  "  For  you  are  so  tall  that,  of  course,  nothing 

61 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

of  mine  would  have  been  the  least  good.  Just  put  it 
on  as  fast  as  ever  you  can  and  come  downstairs  !  " 

"  But  I  don't  understand •"  said  the  bewildered 

Margery. 

"  Oh,  what  does  it  matter  ?  Only  be  quick ! " 
cried  Flora,  taking  her  arm  and  pushing  her  towards 
the  bedroom.  "  I'll  explain  while  you  change.  The 
most  awkward  thing  has  happened.  Madame  Biandina, 
who  is  singing  to-night,  you  know,  of  course  brought 
her  own  accompanist  with  her,  and  he  has  just  stupidly 
slipped  on  the  stairs  and  hurt  his  wrist,  so  that  he 
can't  possibly  play !  Isn't  it  dreadful  ?  She  is 
furious,  and  she  knows  so  little  English  ;  and  there's 
no  time  to  send  for  anyone  else,  for  she  is  going  on 
directly  to  another  house.  So  do  hurry  and  come  down 
to  play  for  her,  or  perhaps  she  won't  sing  at  all — these 
big  stars  do  just  as  they  like  !  And,  of  course,  she 
simply  makes  the  evening  for  us,  and  she  is  most 
awfully  expensive  !  " 

"  Oh,  I  can't !  "  protested  poor  Margery,  trembling. 

"  Can't !  You  must  !  "  said  Flora  positively.  "  Why, 
what's  the  good  of  mother's  getting  a  governess  with 
all  sorts  of  musical  letters  after  her  name  if  she  can't 
do  a  little  thing  like  this  ?  " 

Margery  said  nothing  for  a  minute,  only  busied  her- 
self in  getting  out  the  plain  black  gown  that  had  hung 
undisturbed  ever  since  her  arrival  at  Canning  Place. 
She  was  always  terribly  nervous  of  playing  before  a 
large  audience,  "and  the  account  of  the  "furious" 
prima  donna  was  anything  but  an  encouragement. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  scorn  of  Flora's  tone  was 

62 


One  of  our  Large  Parties 

stinging ;  and,  after  all,  the  Croomes  had  a  right  to 
make  this  sort  of  demand  on  her — only  it  had  never 
occurred  to  her  that  she  would  be  called  upon  for 
anything  so  formidable  as  this.  She  waited  until  she 
could  be  sure  of  speaking  steadily,  and  then  said, 
in  a  cold  and  quiet  voice  :  "  If  you  will  be  kind  enough 
to  send  up  Madame  Biandina's  music,  I  shall  be  glad 
to  try  it  over  before  I  come  down.  I  suppose  you 
don't  happen  to  know  what  she  is  singing  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit — Italian  things,  of  course,"  said  Flora 
carelessly.  "I'll  send  it  up  if  you  like — only  do 
be  quick  !  She  wants  to  sing  at  ten  o'clock  exactly. 
You'll  only  have  five  minutes  to  practise.  Is  it  worth 
while  ?  " 

"  Quite  worth  while,  please,"  said  Margery,  in  so 
unexpectedly  decided  a  tone  that  Flora  stared  at  her 
in  surprise,  and  went  away  without  another  word. 

The  music  was  brought  up  by  a  much-aggrieved 
footman,  who  did  not  consider  it  his  place  to  wait  on 
the  schoolroom,  just  as  Margery  finished  dressing ; 
and  with  it  the  request  that  Miss  Lennard  would  be 
absolutely  punctual.  Margery  took  the  little  roll 
with  a  hand  that  could  not  well  have  been  colder, 
but  was  at  least  no  longer  trembling.  One  quick 
glance  told  her  the  worst,  which  was  no  more  than 
she  had  expected.  The  music  was  quite  unknown 
to  her  and  extremely  difficult ;  moreover,  it  was 
scratched  and  scrawled  ah1  over  with  pencil  notes  of 
the  owner's  own  private  fancies,  which  might  have 
been  quite  intelligible  to  her  usual  accompanist,  but 
called  for  actual  study  on  the  part  of  a  novice. 

63 


The  Real   Mrs.  Holyer 

Margery  hummed  the  airs  quickly  through  to  her- 
self, and  then  sat  down  at  the  little  schoolroom  piano, 
her  watch  beside  her.  She  had  dressed  at  railroad 
speed ;  nevertheless,  the  time  left  to  her  was  scarcely 
better  than  nothing.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  had 
never  played  so  many  false  notes,  never  slurred  so 
many  chords,  never  met  with  such  incessant  changes 
of  key  and  time  in  any  music  ;  but  at  least  she  found 
out  where  the  chief  pitfalls  lay,  and  that  was  some- 
thing to  the  good.  At  five  minutes  before  the  hour, 
she  took  up  the  music  and  walked  down  the  long  stair- 
case, with  her  face  quite  white  and  her  hands  and  step 
quite  steady. 

"  Oh,  there  you  are,  Miss  Lennard  !  Only  just  in 
time  !  "  said  Mrs.  Croome's  voice,  sharp  and  agitated, 
from  a  little  side  room.  "  Madame  is  resting  in  here. 
Of  course,  she  is  very  much  upset.  I  do  trust  you 
will  not  make  any  mistakes  !  Madame,  this  is  Miss 
Lennard,  who  will  play  for  you  as  well  as  she 
can." 

"  If  she  do  not,  I  bite  her !  "  cried  the  great  singer, 
in  a  quick,  vivacious  voice  ;  and  Margery  found  her- 
self confronted  with  a  short,  plump,  plain  person,  in 
a  very  low  gown  of  vivid  green.  But  the  voice  was 
not  unkind,  and  the  sharp  black  eyes  looking  up  at 
her  were  more  than  half  amused.  Margery  gripped 
her  courage  in  both  hands  and  replied  with  a  little 
hesitation  in  sufficiently  fluent  Italian. 

"  Madame  will  forgive  the  faults  I  cannot  help.  I 
do  not  know  the  music  ;  but  I  will  do  my  best." 

"  A-a-ie ! "  shrieked  Madame  Biandina,  relapsing 
64 


One  of  our  Large  Parties 

into  her  own  language  with  vast  relief  and  pleasure. 
"  You  speak  Italian  ?  " 

"  My  mother  was  Italian,"  said  Margery  timidly. 
"  But  I  fear  I  have  forgotten — I  was  only  a  child " 

"  But  you  understand  me — hein  ?  Dio  mio,  you  are 
only  a  child  still — though  of  a  thinness  and  tallness  !  " 
Madame  Biandina's  plump  brown  hands  shot  up  in 
the  air,  to  express  her  astonishment  and  Margery's 
height  simultaneously.  "  Now  I  can  explain.  See 

here — and  here "  She  turned  over  the  music 

rapidly,  dabbing  down  a  forefinger  here  and  there  on 
the  hieroglyphics  for  emphasis.  "  Now,  then — you 
understand  ?  We  are  already  late,  and  I  have  to  go 
on  elsewhere." 

The  back  of  Margery's  ordeal  was  broken  ;  but  still 
it  was  sufficiently  formidable.  The  great  bright 
double  rooms  seemed  to  swim  before  her  eyes  as  she 
went  in  ;  the  buzz  and  clatter  of  voices  made  her  giddy. 
It  was  a  relief  to  slip  into  her  place  before  the  piano, 
and  to  feel,  with  the  striking  of  the  first  chord,  that  at 
least  the  suspense  was  over. 

And,  after  all,  she  had  never  played  an  accompani- 
ment better  in  her  life.  It  was  not  so  terrible  as  a 
solo  performance  ;  she  felt  all  the  time  that  no  one 
was  thinking  about  her  at  all,  which  was  the  greatest 
comfort.  Fortunately,  she  had  always  been  fond  of 
accompanying,  and  had  done  a  great  deal  of  it.  She 
played  on  with  increasing  confidence,  and  the  wonder- 
ful voice  of  the  singer  helped  her  to  forget  nervousness 
in  admiration.  She  could  almost  have  found  it  in  her 
heart  to  be  sorry  when  the  last  of  the  beautiful  notes 

65  5 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

was  sung  and  Madame  Biandina  was  bowing  her  little 
famous  curt  farewell,  previous  to  departing.  It  was 
not  till  then,  when  the  strain  was  over  and  well  over, 
that  Margery  realized  how  severe  it  had  been.  She 
was  trembling  all  over  as  she  rose  from  the  piano, 
and  could  hardly  hear  Madame  Biandina' s  little  gracious 
word  of  thanks  and  approval.  The  buzz  of  chatter 
had  risen  all  round  once  more.  Margery  felt  as  if  it 
were  beyond  her  powers  to  cross  the  vast  expanse  of 
floor  that  lay  between  her  and  escape. 

"  You  look  so  tired.  Come  and  have  something  to 
eat  !  "  said  a  voice  over  her  head  ;  and,  looking  up 
she  met  a  pair  of  kind  blue  eyes  smiling  down  at  her. 

It  was  quite  a  different  and  comparatively  simple 
affair  to  cross  the  room  with  this  very  efficient  pro- 
tector, though  it  had  its  strangeness,  too,  for  Margery 
had  never  before  in  all  her  life  had  her  hand  on  a  man's 
arm.  She  was  still  trembling  all  over,  and  realizing 
how  very  frightened  she  had  been.  It  was  an  untold 
relief  to  find  herself  established  at  a  little  table  in  a 
cosy  and  quiet  corner  of  the  dining-room,  where  she 
could  hardly  be  seen  at  all  by  the  few  people  already 
there. 

"  What  will  you  have  ? "  her  escort  inquired ; 
adding  confidentially  :  "  or  shall  I  go  and  forage,  and 
see  what  looks  best  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes,  please  !  "  said  Margery,  much  relieved  to 
be  spared  the  alarm  of  deciding  ;  and  while  he  was 
standing  at  the  long  buffet  inspecting  its  load  of  deli- 
cacies, she  had  time  to  observe  how  very  tall  he  was, 
and  how  he  dwarfed  the  one  or  two  men  near  him.  She 

66 


One  of  our  Large  Parties 

had  never  before  seen  the  arrangements  for  a  party  at 
the  Croomes',  and  she  looked  about  her  now  with 
much  interest  at  the  transformed  room  ;  and  thought, 
very  much  surprised,  as  she  scanned  the  vast  array  of 
dishes  which  her  escort  was  observing  at  his  leisure, 
that  the  twins  had  been  immensely  mistaken  in  saying 
that  there  would  be  "no  supper." 

"  It's  much  the  best  plan  to  get  in  early,  before  the 
rush — don't  you  think  so  ?  "  said  the  tall  young 
man,  coming  back.  "  I've  brought  you  this ;  I'm 
sure  you  want  it  !  "  and  he  put  before  her  a  small 
fizzing  tumbler,  containing  what  Margery  in  her 
ignorance  considered  to  be  rather  yellow  lemonade. 
"Is  it  true  that  you  really  had  to  play  those  ghastly 
accompaniments  at  sight  ?  " 

"  Oh,  were  they  very  bad  ?  "  faltered  Margery. 

"  No,  simply  splendid !  That  was  why  I  asked, 
because  I  knew  they  must  have  been  so  jolly  hard. 
I'm  much  too  great  a  duffer  to  play  myself,"  he  went 
on  cheerfully,  "  but  I've  a  sister  who  plays  most 
awfully  well,  so  I  know  a  little  about  it  from  hearing 
her." 

"  I'm  so  glad  they  were  not  too  bad,"  said  Margery, 
with  a  great  sigh  of  relief.  "  I  was  most  dreadfully 
frightened  !  " 

"  You  hid  it  very  well,  then,"  he  said  with  approval. 
"  By  the  way,  how  is  it  you  have  never  been  in  the 
Gardens  again  ?  " 

"  The  ch.ldren  have  been  ill.  We  have  not  been  out 
at  all  since  Christmas  Day,"  said  Margery ;  and 
wondered,  with  much  simplicity,  how  he  knew. 

67  5* 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

"  The  little  chap  was  the  worse  for  his  wetting,  then  ? 
I'm  sorry " 

"  Oh,  no  !  Nothing  so  interesting,  I'm  afraid,"  said 
Margery.  "  It  was  only  the  result  of  a  great  Christmas 
dinner." 

"  Little  pigs  !  "  said  the  tall  young  man,  and  he 
threw  back  his  head,  and  laughed  in  a  hearty,  boyish 
fashion.  "  Well,  I'm  afraid,  if  that  was  their  com- 
plaint, that  there  will  probably  be  a  relapse.  They 
came  in  five  minutes  ago — no,  don't  turn  round ! 
they  haven't  seen  you — and  I  can't  see  what  they've 
got  now  ;  but  they  started  off  on  caviare  and  foie 
gras." 

"  Oh,  I  must  go  and  stop  them  !  "  cried  poor  Margery 
in  horror.  "  They  will  be  really  ill  again — the  doctor 
said  they  were  to  have  the  very  plainest  food  till  they 
were  quite  well !  "  She  half  rose  from  her  seat,  and, 
with  the  sight  of  her  charges,  a  sudden  realisation  of 
the  position  of  things  came  over  her,  and  she  blushed 
scarlet.  "  Besides,"  she  added  hastily,  "  I — I  didn't 
think  of  it  before,  but  I  don't  suppose  Mrs.  Croome 
would  expect  me  to  be  here  at  all !  " 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  her  companion,  fixing  his  blue 
eyes  on  her  attentively. 

"  Well,  I  was  only  fetched  down  to  play  the  accom- 
paniments, you  see — I  never  expected  to  be  here  at 
all,"  Margery  explained  simply.  "  I'm  only  the 
children's  governess  ;  of  course,  I  don't  come  down  for 
parties.  Why,  this  is  the  first  time  I've  worn  an 
evening  dress  since  I  came  !  " 

"  What  do  you  do  in  the  evenings,  then  ?  " 
68 


One  of  our  Large  Parties 

"  I  sit  in  the  schoolroom,  of  course,  after  I  have  put 
the  children  to  bed." 

"  Do  you  spend  all  your  time  with  those  two  awful 
imps,  then  ?  " 

"  Well,  it's  what  I  am  here  for,"  said  Margery,  rather 
surprised  at  the  question.  "  We  come  down  for  lunch 
—unless  there  are  visitors.  Of  course,  then  we  have 
our  dinner  in  the  schoolroom." 

He  said  nothing  for  a  minute,  and  then  remarked, 
very  unexpectedly  and  abruptly :  "  I'm  glad  of 
that !  " 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Margery,  looking  at  him  with  eyes 
that  were  astonished  and  hurt.  It  seemed  unkind  to 
grudge  her  a  few  breaks  in  the  monotony  of  her  usual 
life. 

He  looked  expressively  round  the  room,  which  was 
by  this  time  filling  fast. 

"  The  people  here  aren't  your  sort— or  mine,"  he 
said  briefly.  "  I  was  let  in  for  coming  to-night,  and 
couldn't  well  get  out  of  it ;  but  it's  the  first  and  last 
time  !  I  should  be  sorry  to  think  that  you  were 
always  being  mixed  up  with  a  crew  like  this.  Why 
did  your  people  let  you  come  here  at  all  ?  " 

"  I  haven't  any  people,"  said  Margery.  "  My  father 
died  when  I  was  eight  years  old  ;  he  was  a  curate, 
and  had  no  money  at  all.  I've  been  at  Binstead 
Orphanage  ever  since.  This  is  my  first  situation — 
and  I  was  thought  very  lucky  to  get  it.  You  see,  the 
market  for  teachers  is  so  very  much  over-stocked." 

"  I  see,"  said  her  companion,  after  a  brief  pause ; 
and  the  eyes  that  could  be  so  merry  looked  at  her 

69 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

very  gently,  as  she  brought  out  her  little  catch-phrase 
with  perfect  seriousness.  But  Margery  did  not  notice 
them.  She  was  looking  round  the  room,  trying,  in  a 
puzzled  fashion,  to  understand  what  he  had  said  about 
this  gay  company,  and  finding  it  very  difficult  with 
no  standard  of  comparison.  They  all  struck  her  as 
looking  extraordinarily  rich.  The  dresses  of  the 
ladies  were  wonderful,  and  the  room  seemed  to  twinkle 
with  diamonds.  The  men  wore  blazing  studs.  As  a 
rule,  they  were  inclined  to  be  fat  and  to  talk  in  loud, 
self-confident  voices.  A  great  many  of  them  had  very 
conspicuous  noses. 

"  Well — do  you  see  what  I  mean  ?  "  said  Margery's 
companion,  watching  her  curiously. 

Margery  looked  back  at  him. 

"  I  can  see  that  you  are  somehow — not  the  same," 
she  said,  with  the  most  perfect  simplicity.  "  But  I 
don't  know  what  the  difference  is — I  never  saw  any 
people  at  all,  you  see,  outside  the  Orphanage,  before 
I  came  here.  Of  course,  I  know  that  /  am  quite 
different,"  and  she  looked  down  at  her  black  gown 
and  coloured  a  little.  It  had  only  just  occurred  to  her 
what  a  poor  figure  she  must  cut  among  all  these  fine 
feathers.  The  dress  had  seemed  quite  unimpeachable, 
in  its  modest  way,  when  it  was  made  ;  but  now  she 
saw  plainly  enough  that  it  hung  quite  differently  from 
any  other  garment  there.  Also,  she  knew  quite  well — 
for  schoolgirls  are  prone  to  discuss  with  extreme  frank- 
ness each  other's  good  and  bad  points — that  she  did  not 
look  her  best  in  evening  dress.  Her  arms  and  neck 
were  painfully  thin,  and  she  had  no  means  of  disguising 

70 


One  of  our  Large  Parties 

the  fact — as  a  very  scraggy  lady  close  by  had  done 
with  large  solid  lumps  of  jewellery  manufactured  out 
of  rubies  and  little  gold  chains.  Margery  had  no 
ornaments  at  all,  except  the  little  brooch  that  had 
come  to  her  on  Christmas  Day. 

"  I  should  think  you  were  different  !  "  said  the  young 
man,  laughing  again  in  his  boyish  way. 

"I — I'm  sorry,"  said  Margery  very  meekly;  and 
again  she  thought  him,  for  all  his  previous  kindness, 
just  a  little  cruel. 

"  Sorry ! "  he  repeated  after  her,  with  such  an 
expressive  glance  of  amusement  at  the  lady  with  the 
rubies  that  Margery  suddenly  realized,  with  an  odd 
little  jump  of  her  heart,  that  he  had  not  meant  any 
unkindness  at  all.  For  the  first  time  she  felt  a  curious 
shyness  of  him.  It  struck  her  unexpectedly  that  she 
had  only  spoken  to  him  once  before  in  her  life.  And 
as  if  the  same  thought  had  occurred  simultaneously 
to  him,  he  leaned  forward  quickly  and  said  :  "  Do 
you  know  that  we  don't  know  each  other's  names  ?  " 

"  My  name  is  Margery  Lennard,"  said  Margery. 

"  And  mine  is  Denzil  Holyer,"  he  replied. 

"Oh!"  said  Margery.  "Oh!"  and  looked  at  him 
with  large  eyes  that  were  suddenly  full  of  fright.  The 
enormity  of  her  present  conduct  suddenly  showed  itself 
to  her  in  the  most  glaring  colours.  If  Mrs.  Croome  were 
to  see  her  here— or,  worse  still,  Flora ! 

She  rose  hurriedly,  saying  that  she  must  go  to  the 
children  at  once  and  take  them  to  bed. 

"  But  they  are  perfectly  happy,"  he  remonstrated. 
"  Besides,  what  is  the  matter  ?  " 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

Margery  flushed  crimson.  She  could  not  explain, 
perhaps  even  to  herself,  why  the  knowledge  of  his 
identity  seemed  to  have  made  her  offence  so  evident 
in  her  own  eyes.  She  certainly  could  not  say  anything 
about  the  confidence  with  which  Flora  had  favoured 
her. 

"  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Croome  does  not  expect  me  to  be 
here,"  she  faltered.  "  I  ought  never  to  have  come — 
I  ought  to  have  gone  upstairs  again  as  soon  as  Madame 
Biandina  had  gone  !  " 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,"  he  replied,  "Mrs.  Croome 
came  in  ten  minutes  ago,  and  is  quite  safe  at  a  table 
at  the  other  end  of  the  room.  She  can't  possibly  see 
you  here— -even  if  she  is  such  a  brute  as  to  object  to 
your  having  something  to  eat." 

"  But  there's  Miss  Croome  too,"  said  Margery;  and 
her  eyes  added  that  this  alternative  was  the  more 
formidable  of  the  two. 

"  Does  she  also  resent  your  being  fed  ?  "  he  asked 
drily. 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  don't  think  she  would  mind  about 
that  !  "  was  Margery's  guileless  answer. 

Perhaps  the  inference  was  fairly  obvious  ;  perhaps 
the  young  man  had  already  his  own  opinion  of  Flora 
Croome.  His  blue  eyes  gave  an  odd,  quick  flash  that 
was  not  meant  for  Margery  at  all ;  and  then  he  said, 
quite  gently  :  "  Perhaps  you  had  better  go  and  fetch 
the  children,  after  all.  I  don't  want  to  get  you  into 
trouble.  Good-night !  " 

"  Good-night !  "  said  Margery,  with  an  odd  mixture 
of  disappointment  and  relief,  as  his  tall  form  turned 

72 


One  of  our  Large  Parties 

away  towards  the  curtained  doorway.  Perhaps 
Cinderella  felt  the  same  when  midnight  ended  her 
hour  of  pleasure,  and  she  had  succeeded  in  avoiding 
any  encounter  with  her  sisters. 

"  No,  no — no,  Miss  Lennard !  "  shrieked  the  twins 
in  unison,  when  she  came  up  to  the  little  table  where 
they  were  still  eating  greedily.  Margery  shuddered, 
as  she  surveyed  the  traces  of  the  highly  unsuitable 
food  which  they  had  already  consumed — what  would 
the  doctor  have  said  to  lobster  salad  ? — and  the  heaped- 
up  plates  before  them.  Two  fat,  oldish  men  were 
sitting  with  them,  aiding  and  abetting,  and  suggesting 
fresh  enormities.  They  looked  up  at  Margery  with 
curious  eyes,  appraising  her  at  a  glance. 

"  Don't  be  hard-hearted !  "  said  the  younger  of  the 
two  familiarly.  "  I'm  sure  these  youngsters  don't  get 
such  a  chance  every  day." 

"  You  run  away  and  enjoy  yourself  for  a  little 
longer,  and  let  them  do  the  same  in  their  own  way," 
said  the  other  man.  He  was  sitting  facing  down  the 
room,  so  that  Margery  and  her  companion  must  have 
been  in  the  direct  line  of  his  eye  ;  and  his  look  was 
intended  to  convey  the  fact. 

Margery  stiffened,  looking  taller  than  ever  in  her 
severe,  unbecoming  black  dress.  Her  young  face 
turned  very  white. 

"  It  is  the  children's  bedtime.  They  were  not  to 
stay  up  later  than  half -past  eleven,"  she  said,  and  she 
looked  at  the  two  men  squarely  with  her  great  eyes. 
"  Come,  Amabel  and  Cedric  !  You  both  heard  what 
your  mother  said,  and  you  must  come  at  once." 

73 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

She  did  not  speak  at  all  sharply;  but  there  must 
have  been  something  unusual  in  her  tone,  for  the 
twins  made  no  protest  at  all,  slipping  sulkily  from 
their  seats  and  preparing  to  follow  her.  Their  com- 
panions said  nothing,  either ;  but  one  of  them  looked 
a  trifle  ashamed,  and  the  other  more  than  a  trifle  angry. 

And,  after  all,  virtue  proved  its  own  reward  ;  for 
five  minutes'  more  delay  would  have  brought  about 
the  very  encounter  that  Margery  had  most  dreaded. 
Flora  Croome  must  have  come  into  the  room  just  after 
she  herself  had  gone  to  fetch  the  children  ;  for,  as  they 
made  their  way  to  the  doorway,  they  passed  close  to 
a  little  group  that  stood  near  it — Flora,  at  her  most 
vivacious  and  coquettish ;  Denzil  Holyer,  with  his 
back  to  them  as  they  went  by,  so  that  Margery  could 
not  see  how  he  responded  ;  and  a  short,  slight  young 
man,  with  extraordinarily  quick  and  restless  light 
eyes.  Margery  had  noticed  him  vaguely,  passing  her 
and  Denzil  as  they  sat  at  supper,  and  bestowing  on 
them  one  glance  that  seemed  to  illuminate  every  detail 
of  their  appearance  like  a  flashlight.  That  same  quick 
glance  was  flitting  now  from  Denzil  to  Flora  and  back 
again,  and  round  the  room,  noting  every  detail  of  face 
and  dress  and  figure,  or,  at  least,  appearing  so  to  do. 
Even  the  insignificant  trio  of  children  and  governess 
was  not  exempt  in  its  modest  progress  towards  the 
door. 


74 


I 


CHAPTER  V 

TWO'S   COMPANY 

T  said  much  for  the  constitutions  of  the  twins  that 


their  egregious  supper  had  no  apparent  effect  upon 
them,  beyond  a  certain  increased  fractiousness  the  next 
morning. 

"  Party  last  night,  I  suppose  ?  "  said  the  doctor, 
preparing  to  cut  his  visit  as  short  as  possible,  after 
one  glance  at  them. 

"  Yes,"  said  Margery  briefly,  meeting  his  half -amused, 
half-disgusted  eyes  with  complete  sympathy. 

"  Take  them  out  as  soon  as  possible,  for  goodness' 
sake!"  said  the  doctor;  and  retired  hastily  from  the 
presence  of  the  snapping,  snarling  pair. 

Margery  was  glad  enough  to  obey.  She  had  felt 
the  confinement  to  the  house  more  than  a  little  during 
the  past  week,  and  there  was  some  faint  hope  that  a 
little  fresh  air  might  lead  to  better  tempers. 

"  Surely  you're  not  going  to  take  them  out,  Miss 
Lennard,  on  such  a  bitter  day  ?  "  said  Flora,  coming 
shivering  and  yawning  into  the  schoolroom. 

"  The  doctor  said  so,"  Margery  replied  with  decision. 

"  Oh,  well,  then  I  suppose  you  must.  But  what  a 
nuisance,  when  I  particularly  wanted  to  talk  to  you  I  " 

75 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  We  must  go  at  once,  I  think,  while  the  sunshine 
lasts,"  said  Margery,  not  very  reluctantly.  She  was 
not  in  the  least  inclined  for  another  confidential  talk ; 
she  was,  on  the  contrary,  anxious  to  hurry  the  children 
through  their  dressing  as  fast  as  possible,  seeing  that 
Flora  seemed  disposed  to  linger  in  the  schoolroom. 

"  Did  you  see — a  certain  person — last  night  ?  "  the 
latter  inquired  with  ostentatious  carelessness.  "  I 
don't  know  if  you  noticed — he  was  talking  to  me  just 
when  you  were  taking  the  children  to  bed  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Margery. 

"  What  did  you  think  of  him  ? "  Flora  inquired 
further,  playing  with  her  rings.  But  Margery  was 
saved  the  trouble  of  replying  by  Amabel,  who  broke 
in  after  her  pert  fashion  : 

"  You  needn't  talk  in  that  silly  way,  Flora,  as  if 
you  thought  we  shouldn't  know  who  you  mean  ! 
You're  talking  about  him  what  pulled  Cedric  out  of 
the  pond." 

"  Isn't  it  a  romantic  coincidence  ?  "  said  Flora,  with 
a  little  extra  colour,  and  self-conscious  eyes  on  Margery. 

"  I  don't  know  what  that  is  ?  "  suggested  Amabel, 
her  head  on  one  side  like  an  inquisitive  magpie. 

"  You  weren't  meant  to  !  "  said  Cedric,  in  blunt 
parenthesis. 

Margery  half  smiled.  "  I'm  not  sure  that  I  quite 
understand,  either,"  she  said  a  little  stiffly. 

"  Why,  that  it  should  be  Denzil  Holyer  who  saved 
Cedric's  life  in  that  horrid  accident ! "  said  Flora, 
who  had  always  previously  referred  to  the  adventure 
as  "  that  naughty  boy's  silly  little  wetting." 

76 


Two's  Company 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Margery,  and  waited  a  minute.  "  Yes, 
I  suppose  it  is — a  coincidence,"  she  said  very  quietly, 
as  she  buttoned  Amabel's  coat.  "  Come,  children  ! 
You  are  both  quite  ready  now." 

It  was  a  relief  to  leave  the  house  behind  her  :  partly 
just  for  the  change,  after  so  many  days'  imprisonment, 
partly  because  she  did  not  at  all  want  to  discuss  Denzil 
Holyer  with  Flora.  Remembering  what  he  had  said 
as  to  the  circumstances  of  his  being  at  the  Croomes' 
party  at  all,  such  discussion  was  likely  to  lead  to 
difficulties. 

It  was  a  very  bright  cold  winter  morning.  The 
crisp  air  was  altogether  a  delight  to  Margery,  but  it 
made  the  fretful  children  more  fretful  still.  Amabel 
complained  that  the  wind  gave  her  a  headache  ;  Cedric 
whined  about  cold  hands.  Both  together  insisted  on 
walking  slowly,  with  dragging  feet,  in  spite  of  all 
Margery's  suggestions  that  a  brisk  run  would  make 
them  feel  better  at  once.  They  wanted  to  go  and 
look  at  shops;  and  half-way  there,  it  struck  them 
that  they  would  have  to  face  the  wind  all  the  way, 
and  that  the  Gardens  would  be,  on  the  whole,  less 
disagreeable.  So  to  the  Gardens  they  repaired,  and 
Amabel  immediately  shed  tears  of  crossness  and  dis- 
appointment because  her  friend  with  the  black  eyes 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen.  It  was  a  very  weary  morning. 
The  twins,  quarrelling  snappishly  over  every  fresh 
subject  that  poor  Margery  sought  to  introduce,  were 
on^y  of  accord  when  the  question  was  one  of  occupa- 
tion. They  would  not  sit  down,  even  for  five  minutes. 
on  a  perfectly  sheltered  and  sunshiny  seat,  because  it 

77 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

was  so  cold.  They  would  not  run  about,  because 
Amabel  had  a  headache  and  Cedric  thought  that  he 
was  going  to  have  a  chilblain.  They  did  not  want  to 
listen  to  any  stories,  or  talk  about  the  party  last  night, 
or  take  an  interest  in  anyone  or  anything.  They  would 
only  drag  round  and  round  the  paths,  exasperatingly 
just  a  step  behind  Margery,  with  their  little  cross, 
white  faces  getting  all  the  time  whiter  and  crosser. 

"  Why,  what  a  funeral  procession  !  "  said  a  sudden 
voice  behind  them — such  a  different  voice,  full  of 
merriment  and  good-nature  and  all  that  was  agreeable, 
that  Margery's  heart  rose  with  a  bound,  and  the 
children,  wheeling  round,  actually  smiled  for  the  first 
time  that  morning. 

It  was  Denzil  Holyer,  looking  as  if  he  came  from 
quite  a  separate  world  from  theirs  :  a  world  where 
everyone  was  handsome  and  good-humoured,  and 
where  quarrelling  and  fretfulness  were  unknown.  The 
effect  of  his  coming  was  like  white  magic.  In  five 
minutes  the  apathetic  twins  were  actually  running 
races — he  had  declared  racing  to  be  an  infallible  cure 
for  chilblains  and  headaches  alike,  and  had  quite 
seriously  offered  penny  prizes  :  such  an  extraordinary 
offer  for  children  who,  like  men-servants,  were  in  the 
habit  of  receiving  only  golden  tips,  that  the  very 
piquancy  and  novelty  startled  them  into  something 
approaching  good  temper.  The  effect  on  Margery  was 
to  make  her  look  all  of  a  sudden  some  ten  years  nearer 
eighteen  than  she  had  before  his  arrival. 

"  You've  had  rather  a  trying  time,  I  should  imagine," 
78 


Two's  Company 

he  suggested.     "  I  thought  you  would  after  last  night, 
and  I  came  round  this  morning  to  see." 

"  It  was  very  good  of  you,"  said  Margery,  with 
heartfelt  gratitude. 

"  Don't  you  ever  get  out  of  the  house  without  these 
imps  ?  "  asked  Denzil. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Margery,  surprised  at  the  supposi- 
tion. "  At  least,"  for  she  was  one  of  the  most  strictly 
truthful  souls  alive,  "  at  least,  only  once  a  month,  you 
know,  to  an  early  service." 

"  By — Jove  !  "  said  Denzil,  drawing  a  long  breath 
and  looking  at  her  with  genuine  compassion.  "  I 
should  think,  from  what  I  saw  this  morning  before  I 
came  up  with  you,  that  you  must  absolutely  dread  going 
out !  " 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Margery  sincerely.  "  They  are 
very  seldom  like  this.  Besides,  it  is  much  worse  when 
we  have  to  stay  indoors." 

Denzil  looked  at  her,  and  looked  away  again,  and 
then  sat  for  a  moment  quite  silent,  digging  the  point 
of  his  stick  into  the  gravel  of  the  path.  Then,  with 
some  suddenness,  he  began  to  talk  in  a  gay,  inconse- 
quent fashion  that  seemed  to  have  no  other  end  than 
to  make  Margery  laugh.  It  was  a  sort  of  talk  that  had 
never  come  her  way  before,  and  it  succeeded  in  its 
apparent  purpose  to  a  marvel.  Margery  felt  herself 
a  child  again — not  the  serious,  sad  little  girl  who  had 
gone  at  eight  years  old  to  the  Orphanage,  leaving  father 
and  mother  side  by  side  in  the  village  churchyard ; 
but  a  child  such  as  she  had  read  of  in  books  and  seen 
in  the  Gardens,  a  merry  creature  for  whom  life  seemed 

79 


The  RealjMrs.  Holyer 

to  be  made  up  of  amusement.  Denzil  was  so  hand- 
some, so  gay,  so  kind.  Innocent  as  she  was,  Margery 
was  not  blind  to  the  interested  looks  of  sympathy  or 
curiosity  that  were  cast  at  them  by  the  passers-by. 
She  knew  that  her  companion  was  extremely  good- 
looking,  and  that  he  paid  no  attention  to  anyone  but 
herself  and  the  children.  Just  once  the  cold  thought 
flashed  across  her  of  Mrs.  Croome's  excessive  anger 
if  she  could  see — for  surely  this  was  worse  than  any 
chance  conversation  with  a  little  Swiss  governess! 
But  with  the  thought  there  arose  suddenly  in  Margery 
quite  a  new  quality  of  self-assertion.  The  children 
were  certain  to  tell ;  she  was  sure  to  get  into  deep 
disgrace — well,  so  let  it  be  !  The  gods  themselves 
cannot  take  back  their  gifts.  Mrs.  Croome  might  be 
all-powerful ;  but  even  she  could  not  rob  Margery  of 
the  memory  of  this  wonderful  morning. 

The  colour  came  into  the  girl's  cheeks  and  the 
light  into  her  eyes ;  she  had  never  looked  so  nearly 
handsome.  Denzil,  looking  curiously  at  her  defiant 
little  smile,  suddenly  left  off  talking  nonsense  and  began 
to  speak  in  quite  a  frank  and  simple  way  about  him- 
self. He  had  been  sent  away  from  home,  it  appeared, 
in  something  very  like  disgrace,  for  the  absurd  reason 
that  he  had  come  down  from  Cambridge  without 
distinguishing  himself  in  any  way,  and  without 
any  ambitions  at  all  concerning  his  future. 

"  My  father  can't  understand  why  he  has  been 
afflicted  with  a  son  who  isn't  clever,  and  that's  why 
he  can't  bear  me.  They  call  us  the  '  Ugly  Holyers,' 
you  know.  And  I  assure  you,  Miss  Lennard,  that  we 

80 


Two's  Company 

have  gone  on  from  one  generation  to  another  getting 
uglier  and  cleverer,  until  our  family  portrait  gallery 
is  enough  to  make  that  fellow  Ruskin  turn  in  his 
grave  !  " 

Margery  laughed.  But  she  could  not  keep  the 
astonishment  out  of  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  him, 
and  he  responded  to  it  quite  frankly. 

"  Oh,  I'm  a  freak ;  and,  as  I  said,  my  father  can't 
stand  it.  And  unluckily  my  brother,  who  has  a 
double  allowance  of  brains  and  is — a  thorough  Holyer 
in  every  way" — Denzil  grinned  a  little — "is  so 
delicate,  poor  chap,  that  he  can't  make  any  use  of 
them.  So  they  are  trying  to  make  up  their  minds 
at  home  what  to  do  with  me,  and  I'm  staying  with 
my  cousin  Horace.  Have  you  met  him  ?  " 

"  I  don't  '  meet '  anyone ;  but  I  think  I  know  him 
by  sight,"  said  Margery,  remembering  the  short  young 
man  with  the  quick  light  eyes.  And  then  she  sat 
and  looked  at  her  companion  with  serious  wonder. 
She  knew  so  well  how  her  own  sex  was  hampered  at 
every  turn  in  the  struggle  for  life  when  it  had  to  fend 
for  itself.  Men  had  always  seemed  to  her  such  enviable 
beings,  with  everything  made  easy  for  them,  and  every 
trade  and  profession  lying  ready  to  their  hands.  And 
yet  here  was  one  of  them  throwing  away  with  both 
hands  the  goods  the  gods  provided ;  simply  because, 
with  all  his  charm  and  beauty,  it  seemed  that  he  was 
lacking  in  some  vital  quality  which  goes  to  make  the 
man.  Perhaps  it  was  that  she  knew,  without  knowing 
it,  that  she  was  strong  just  where  he  was  weak ; 
perhaps  it  was  only  that  the  very  weakness  appealed 

81  6 


The   Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

to  the  motherliness  lying  at  the  core  of  every 
woman's  heart — be  that  how  it  might,  of  a  sudden 
Margery  found  herself  looking  at  him  with  new  eyes  : 
found,  indeed,  with  a  curious  shyness  that  puzzled 
her  extremely,  that  she  could  not  meet  his  eyes  any 
more. 

"  I  suppose  it  will  end  in  Canada,"  he  said — too 
lightly,  too  easily.  "  And  I'm  not  sure  that  that 
won't  suit  me  better  than  anything  this  side  of  the 
water.  I  shall  be  better  away  from  my  people ;  it's 
not  pleasant  to  have  it  eternally  rubbed  into  you  that 
you  are  a  disappointment !  " 

"  No,"  said  Margery  very  low. 

"  Here  come  the — darling  children  back  again  !  " 
he  cried  gaily,  in  quite  another  voice.  "  What  on 
earth  can  I  find  for  them  to  do  now  ?  My  imagination 
has  given  out." 

Margery  smiled,  but  she  rose  from  the  seat. 

"  I'm  afraid  there  is  no  need  to  invent  anything 
more,"  she  said.  "  It  is  time  for  us  to  go  home." 

"  Oh,  not  yet !  "  pleaded  Denzil,  with  the  most 
flattering  dismay. 

"  Yes,  we  must  not  be  late  for  dinner,"  said  Margery. 
"  Come,  children  !  " 

"  Oh,  not  yet !  "  the  twins  echoed  Denzil  in  equally 
afflicted  tones.  "  Just  one  more  race,  Miss  Lennard  !  " 

But  Margery  was  quite  firm,  and  they  had  learnt  by 
experience  that  what  she  said  had  to  be  done.  So 
with  pouts  and  snarls  and  thunderous  looks  they  gave 
in,  and  Denzil  walked  with  them  as  far  as  the 
gate. 

82 


Two's  Company 

"  Come  again  to-morrow  !  Do,  do  come  again  to- 
morrow !  "  cried  Amabel,  clinging  to  his  hand. 

"  If  Miss  Lennard  will  let  me,"  said  Denzil ;  and 
shot  a  challenging  glance  at  Margery. 

"  The  Gardens  are  quite  free,"  said  Margery,  with  a 
bright  colour  and  a  laugh  that  were  equally  unnatural. 
"  I  have  no  right  to  prevent  you  !  " 

"  Then  I  may  come  ?  "  Denzil  persisted. 

"  Yes,"  said  Margery  ;  and  she  looked  straight  at 
him,  and  then  dropped  her  eyes  with  remarkable 
suddenness. 

The  hard  pavement  might  have  been  the  Elysian 
Fields ;  she  listened  smilingly  to  the  twins'  cross 
chatter  as  if  it  had  been  the  most  enchanting  music. 
She  was  no  longer  afraid  of  Mrs.  Croome.  Whatever 
scolding  she  might  have  earned,  her  morning  had  been 
worth  it ! 

But,  most  incredibly,  there  was  no  scolding  at  all ; 
there  was  even  something  faintly  like  approbation. 
The  twins  ran  in  open-mouthed  to  pour  out  their 
morning's  adventures  to  their  mother  and  Flora,  who 
both  happened  to  be  in  the  hall,  and  Mrs.  Croome 
listened  with  an  extraordinary  graciousness,  while 
Flora  blushed  and  bridled.  Margery,  astonished, 
looked  on  with  large  eyes  of  amazement ;  and  then, 
suddenly  understanding,  could  have  laughed  aloud. 
That  anyone  should  imagine  Denzil  Holyer  thinking 
twice  of  Flora  Croome  !  The  idea  caused  her  no  pain  ; 
it  was  simply  incredibly  ridiculous — she  did  not  need 
any  recollection  of  what  he  had  said  to  her  at  the 
party  to  assure  her  of  that.  She  did  not  undervalue 

83  6* 


The  Real   Mrs.   Holyer 

Flora's  attractions  in  the  least.  To  many  men,  doubt- 
less, she  might  be  full  of  charm  ;  but  not  to  Denzil 
Holyer.  True,  Margery  had  only  spoken  to  him  three 
times  in  her  life ;  but  she  seemed  to  know  him  so  well, 
that  she  could  answer  for  him  with  absolute  confidence. 
It  was  not  that  she  thought  him  perfect — she  was 
quite  well  aware  of  at  least  one  defect  in  him ;  but  she 
felt  that  he  was  miles  above  Flora  Croome. 

"  I  am  always  glad  when  you  take  the  children  to 
the  Gardens,"  said  Mrs.  Croome,  with  astounding 
graciousness,  apparently  forgetting  that  a  week  ago 
she  had  almost  forbidden  them  ever  to  go  there  again, 
thanks  to  Cedric's  accident.  "  Especially  since  they 
have  not  been  well,  they  are  much  better  out  of  the 
draughty  streets.  Please  keep  them  to  the  Gardens 
for  the  present,  Miss  Lennard." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Margery  meekly,  and  cast  down 
her  eyes  lest  Mrs.  Croome  should  see  the  amusement 
and  pleasure  in  them.  It  was  agreeable  to  be  com- 
manded to  do  the  very  thing  she  most  desired. 

But  alas  for  premature  rejoicing  !  As  they  went 
downstairs  the  next  morning  on  their  way  out — a 
little  earlier  than  usual,  for  the  twins  were  all  eager- 
ness to  meet  Denzil  again — Flora  came  out  of  her  room. 
It  was  her  first  appearance  that  day ;  but  she  was 
dressed  to  go  out,  and  dressed  for  conquest.  Margery 
glanced,  with  a  suddenly  sinking  heart,  at  her  huge 
feathered  hat,  her  wonderful  red  tailor-made,  and  her 
agonizingly  pointed  patent  leather  shoes  of  a  new- 
ness and  gloss  that  dazzled  the  eye. 

"  I  think  I'll  come  out  with  you  this  morning," 
84 


Two's  Company 

said  Flora,  with  elaborate  carelessness  and  a  heightened 
colour. 

Fortunately  Margery  was  spared  the  difficulty  of 
finding  a  reply  at  once  polite  and  truthful,  for  the 
twins  responded  in  hasty  wrath. 

"  Why  ?  You  never  do  !  "  said  Cedric.  staring  at 
her  with  a  frown. 

"  And  we  don't  want  you  now  !  "  said  Amabel  point- 
blank. 

"  Children  !  children  !  Don't  be  rude,"  reproved 
Margery. 

"  It  doesn't  matter,"  smiled  Flora,  buttoning  her 
tight  gloves  with  some  difficulty.  "  Now,  run  on 
ahead,  you  two  !  " 

The  twins  crossly  complied.  But,  to  Margery's 
relief,  they  kept  turning  back  every  few  yards  to 
make  a  remark  or  ask  a  question,  invariably  about 
Denzil  Holyer  and  the  likelihood  of  seeing  him.  So 
Flora  could  only  discuss  the  subject  in  disguised 
phrases. 

"Did  he  say — much — about  me?"  she  inquired 
consciously. 

"  No,"  said  Margery. 

But  Flora's  complacency  was  not  to  be  thus  easily 
discouraged.  "  Isn't  it  funny  that  they  never  do  /  " 
she  said.  "  I  always  think  it  is  quite  one  of  the  signs 
— don't  you,  Miss  Lennard  ?  " 

"  I'm  afraid  I  have  no  experience,"  said  Margery. 

"  Oh,  of  course  not !  Besides,  if  he  was  playing 
games  with  the  children  all  the  morning,  of  course  he 
would  not  have  much  time  to  talk  to  you  I " 

85 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

Margery  was  glad  that  the  twins,  sometimes  super- 
fluously truthful,  were  at  the  moment  out  of  ear- 
shot ;  for  nothing  would  have  better  pleased  Amabel's 
impish  precocity  than  to  disabuse  her  elder  sister  of 
this  idea.  It  struck  Margery  as  slightly  amusing  that 
Flora  was  assuming  the  impossibility  of  Denzil's  taking 
the  smallest  interest  in  her,  the  governess,  while  she 
knew  for  a  certainty  that  he  had  no  thought  at  all 
of  Flora.  It  would  have  seemed  a  thing  incredible 
to  that  young  woman  to  be  jealous  of  her  companion, 
who  was  not  even  pretty — "  very  plain,"  Flora 
would  have  described  her — and  was  most  unnoticeably 
dressed  in  very  inexpensive  clothes.  Whereas  Flora 
herself  was  a  sufficiently  conspicuous  figure,  and 
pleasantly  conscious  of  the  fact.  Bright  red  was 
very  becoming  to  her  complexion  ;  the  black  feathery 
hat  served  to  set  off  cunningly  the  abundant  coils  and 
curls  of  her  flaxen  hair.  People  looked  at  her  a  good 
deal,  whereas  they  never  wasted  a  second  glance  on 
Margery.  As  they  turned  into  the  Gardens,  she  was 
in  a  little  pleasant  flutter  of  vanity  and  excitement. 

"  Oh,  you  do  suppose  he  will  be  there,  don't  you  ?  " 
she  whispered  to  Margery,  looking  eagerly  round. 
And  then,  a  moment  later  :  "  Oh,  there  he  is  !  " 

Margery  had  seen  him  from  the  first,  but  she  did  not 
say  so. 

"  Isn't  he  divine  !  "  murmured  Flora  ecstatically. 

"  He  is  very  good-looking,"  said  Margery. 

"  Oh,  he  sees  us  !  He's  coming !  "  cried  Flora,  in 
little  agitated  jerks.  "  Oh,  Miss  Lennard,  you  can't 
think  how  I  feel !  Is  my  hat  straight  ?  " 

86 


Two's  Company 

"  Yes.  And  he  will  hear  what  you  say  if  you  are 
not  careful,"  said  Margery,  very  quietly  indeed.  She 
had  seen,  what  Flora  apparently  had  not,  his  quick 
start  and  look  of  pleasure,  followed  immediately  by  a 
very  different  expression.  As  they  met,  the  blue  eyes 
flashed  a  reproachful:  "  Why?"  And  "  It's  not  my 
fault — I  couldn't  help  it  !  "  pleaded  the  grey  eyes  in 
response. 

Flora  was  prepared  to  enjoy  herself  immensely, 
and  her  methods  were  quite  simple  and  without  finesse. 

"  I  must  thank  you  for  all  your  kindness  to  my 
little  brother  and  sister,"  she  said  coquettishly ;  and  her 
tone  and  emphasis  gave  her  hearers  abundantly  to 
understand  that  she  put  down  the  kindness  to  the 
relationship.  "  But,  really,  I  can't  allow  them  to 
impose  upon  your  good-nature  again  to-day.  I  was 
quite  sorry  for  you,  when  I  heard  what  yesterday 
morning's  programme  had  been  !  " 

"  There  was  no  need  for  you  to  be  sorry,"  said 
Denzil.  His  voice  was  stiff  and  cold ;  his  eyes  met 
Margery's. 

"  Well,  I  can't  let  the  same  thing  happen  again 
to-day !  "  cried  Flora,  quite  unconscious  how  much 
more  she  might  have  meant  her  words  if  she  had 
known  a  little  more.  "  Now,  children,  run  away  with 
Miss  Lennard  !  You  mustn't  stand  about.  It's  far  too 
cold."  She  sat  down  on  a  convenient  seat. 

"  Then  it's  too  cold  for  you  to  sit,  either !  "  said 
Amabel,  pertly  and  pertinently. 

"  /  haven't  been  ill,"  said  Flora,  colouring  a  little, 
and  not  looking  best  pleased.  "  Run  away  !  " 

87 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

"  I  don't  know  why  you've  come  out  with  us  this 
morning  at  all,"  said  Cedric,  in  fierce  displeasure. 
"  You  never  do,  and  I'm  sure  nobody  wants  you  !  " 

"  Don't  be  rude,  Cedric,"  reproved  Margery  quietly  ; 
and  carried  off  the  reluctant  pair  in  that  decided  way 
of  hers  which  admitted  of  no  discussion. 

"  Please  don't  stand  over  me  to  talk  !  "  said  Flora, 
looking  up  at  Denzil,  standing  very  tall  and  unsmiling 
beside  her.  "  It's  such  a  strain  to  talk  up  to  such  a 
height." 

Denzil  perforce  sat  down. 

With  scrupulous  care,  Margery  kept  the  twins, 
sorely  against  their  will,  at  a  respectful  distance,  and 
put  forth  all  her  powers  to  amuse  them  :  an  uphill  task, 
for  they  never  ceased  their  lamentations  at  being 
separated  from  yesterday's  companion.  So  scrupulous, 
in  fact,  was  Margery,  that  she  would  not  even  look 
towards  that  distant  seat.  Only  once  her  eyes  be- 
trayed her ;  and  then  she  saw,  with  a  leap  of  her  heart, 
that  Flora  was  chattering  fluently,  coquettishly,  un- 
tiringly, and  that  Denzil  sat  beside  her,  a  little  way 
off,  quite  stiff  and  upright.  She  knew,  without  look- 
ing, that  he  glanced  across  several  times  to  her  and  the 
children ;  but  she  would  not  go  back.  Even  at  the 
last  moment,  when  it  was  time  to  go  home,  she  turned 
down  a  side-path  that  led  out  of  the  Gardens  by 
another  way.  But  this  proved  too  much !  Amabel, 
without  warning,  flew  from  her  side  and  stood  flushed 
and  tearful  before  the  pair  on  the  seat. 

"  We've  got  to  go  home  now — and  you've  never 
played  with  us  at  all  I "  she  wailed. 


Two's  Company 

"I'm  sorry,"  said  Denzil ;  and  he  rose  quickly,  with 
something  suspiciously  like  relief. 

"  You'll  come  to-morrow  ?  Do  !  do  !  "  implored 
Amabel,  seizing  his  hand.  Oh,  blessed  freedom  of 
speech,  wherein  eight  is  so  far  superior  to  eighteen  ! 

Denzil  half  glanced  at  Flora,  flushed  and  smiling  ; 
did  not  look  at  Margery  at  all.  "  No,"  he  said 
deliberately.  "I'm  afraid  I  shall  be  prevented 
from  coming  to-morrow.  Some  other  day,  perhaps, 
Amabel !  " 

"  How  disappointed  he  was,  to  have  to  say 
'  No !  '  '  said  Flora  with  renewed  complacency,  as 
she  and  Margery  followed  the  children.  "  Did  you 
see  how  he  looked  at  me  when  he  said  it,  Miss 
Lennard  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Margery. 

They  were  not  honoured  with  Flora's  company 
the  next  day,  but  on  the  day  following  she  came 
out  with  them  again,  in  spite  of  strenuous  opposition 
on  the  part  of  the  twins. 

"You  aren't  coming  again?"  said  Cedric,  staring 
at  her  with  a  fierce  frown. 

"  Because  nobody  wants  you  !  "  said  Amabel. 

But  Flora,  unprovoked,  only  smiled,  and  answered 
sweetly  :  "  Really,  Amabel  ?  "  in  a  tone  which  implied 
that  she  was  of  another  opinion.  So  she  accompanied 
them  to  the  Gardens,  smiling  and  expectant ;  returning 
by  herself  some  half-hour  later,  very  cross  indeed. 
Friday  is  proverbially  an  unlucky  day,  and  Denzil 
Holyer  had  not  appeared  at  all. 

The  same  programme  was  repeated  on  Saturday ; 

89 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

and  really  Margery  deserved  a  large  share  of  pity,  for 
three  crosser  companions  could  not  well  have  been 
found  for  her.  "  He  must  be  ill !  "  said  Flora,  as  she 
prepared  to  flounce  away  in  high  displeasure.  "  Don't 
you  think  so,  Miss  Lennard  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  "  said  Margery.  But  she  spoke 
rather  faintly,  and  with  some  confusion ;  for  she  had 
caught  a  glimpse  in  the  extreme  distance  of  some- 
one who  might  quite  credibly  have  been  Denzil,  wait- 
ing and  watching,  and,  immediately  after  their  arrival, 
beating  a  retreat  in  haste. 

It  was  a  relief  that  the  next  day  was  Sunday.  There 
would  at  least  be  one  day's  respite  before  another  visit 
to  the  Gardens — even  more,  perhaps,  for  the  weather 
seemed  to  have  broken.  It  was  a  wet  and  stormy 
morning  on  which  Margery  went  out  to  the  eight 
o'clock  service,  battling  with  the  wind  in  great  haste, 
after  the  usual  difficulties  with  the  second  house- 
maid ;  for  that  young  woman  considered  herself  put 
upon  in  being  expected  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  twins 
for  an  hour,  merely  because  the  governess  wished  to  go 
to  church. 

The  Parish  Church  was  very  dark  on  this  wet  winter 
morning,  and  the  congregation  scanty.  Margery  was 
so  very  nearly  late,  that  she  was  relieved  to  hear  some- 
one come  into  the  church  just  after  her — someone  who, 
oddly  enough,  foUowed  her  into  the  same  pew.  It 
was  Denzil  Holyer. 

After  the  first  momentary  glance  in  which  their  eyes 
met,  he  did  not  look  at  her  at  all,  but  followed  the 
service  in  a  perfectly  reverent  and  quiet  fashion. 

90 


Two's  Company 

They  came  out  side  by  side,  and   then  he  turned  to 
her  with  a  boyishly  frank  apology. 

"  I  hope  you  didn't  mind,  Miss  Lennard  ?  " 
"  Mind  ?  "  stammered  Margery. 
"  My  coming  to  meet  you,"  said  Denzil.     "  I  thought 
— from  what  you  said  once — that  this  was  the  only 
possible  chance." 

It  was  a  pouring  wet,  raw,  thoroughly  disagreeable 
January  morning.  The  wind  tore  at  their  umbrellas 
and  drove  the  rain  into  their  faces.  But  Margery 
thought  that  she  had  never  known  such  a  delightful 
day,  and  could  have  wished  her  homeward  path  a 
dozen  times  its  actual  short  length.  They  seemed 
hardly  to  have  left  the  church  door  behind  them  before 
they  were  pausing,  by  mutual  unspoken  consent,  to  say 
good-bye  at  the  corner  of  Canning  Place. 

"  Look  here — must  I  wait  another  month  before  I 
can  speak  to  you  again  ?  "  said  Denzil. 
Margery  murmured  something  quite  incoherent. 
"  Is  it  quite  impossible  for  you  ever  to  have  even  an 
hour's  respite  from  those  children  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't  ask  for  that ! "  said  Margery, 
frightened  at  the  bare  suggestion.  "  It  would  be 
inconvenient  for  Mrs.  Croome — and — and  she  would  be 

so  surprised " 

Denzil  paused,  with  a  knitted  brow. 
"  Well,  then — is  there  any  morning  when  you  are 
quite  sure  that  Miss  Croome  will  not  come  out  with 
you  ?  "  he  inquired  frankly. 

If  Flora  could  have  heard !  The  colour  flew  to 
Margery's  face. 

91 


The   Real   Mrs.   Holyer 

"  I — I  know  she  can't  come  on  Tuesday  week,"  she 
stammered,  with  an  awful  feeling  of  guilt.  "  She  is 
going  to  be  photographed 

"  Tuesday  week — what  a  long  way  off  !  "  said  Denzil 
discontentedly.  "  Well — till  Tuesday  week,  then,  Miss 
Lennard  !  You'll  be  sure  to  go  to  the  Gardens  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  faltered  Margery ;  and  ran  up  the  steps  of 
the  Croomes'  house  with  cheeks  aflame. 


92 


CHAPTER  VI 

A   BUSINESS   PROPOSAL 

"  T\7THAT  an  extraordinary  thing,"  said  Flora 
W  crossly,  "  that  he  should  have  come  to  the 
Gardens  the  only  day  that  I  have  not  been  there  1  " 

Margery  looked  down,  hoping  that  her  guilt  did 
not  show  in  her  face. 

"  The  children  say  that  he  was  talking  to  you  for 
quite  a  long  time,"  Flora  pursued,  with  astonishment 
and  annoyance.  "  Was  he  very  much  disappointed  not 
to  see  me  ?  What  did  he  talk  about  ?  " 

Margery  cast  wildly  about  for  an  answer.  Not  that 
Denzil  Holyer  had  said  anything  to  her  that  might 
not  have  been  repeated  upon  the  house-tops ;  but 
Flora  would  certainly  be  surprised  to  hear  that  he 
had  talked  of  almost  nothing  except  his  own  people 
and  his  own  prospects. 

"  He — he  said  that  he  expected  to  be  in  London  for 
some  time  longer,"  stammered  Margery,  very  lamely, 
at  last. 

"  What  a  funny  thing  to  tell  you!"  said  Flora.  But 
she  was  interested  and  slightly  appeased.  "  After 
all,"  she  said,  after  a  minute's  reflection,  "  I  don't 
know  that  it  was  so  very  funny.  Of  course,  he  knew 

93 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

that  you  would  pass  it  on  to  me,  and  that  I  should 
understand  that  he  meant  I  should  see  him  again  before 
so  very  long.  I  suppose  he  hardly  would  have  sent 
me  a  direct  message  through  you  !  "  She  smiled  with 
revived  complacency,  and  Margery  breathed  again. 

She  did  not  know  when  she  would  have  another 
chance  of  seeing  Denzil ;  she  had  had  no  suggestion 
to  offer  to  his  urgent  requests.  But  she  had  been 
brought  up  to  be  content  with  very  little,  and,  in  her 
estimation,  yesterday  had  counted  for  much.  She 
never  thought  to  ask  herself  where  these  semi-clan- 
destine meetings  were  to  lead  to.  Enough  that 
for  the  present  they  were  the  pleasantest  things  she 
had  ever  known,  and  she  neither  asked  nor  expected 
anything  more. 

"  Why  are  you  laughing  like  that,  Miss  Lennard  ?  " 
asked  Cedric  suddenly,  at  the  close  of  a  hopelessly  wet 
afternoon. 

"  I'm  not — I  didn't  know  I  was,"  said  Margery, 
starting  a  little,  roused  from  her  dream  of  yesterday 
morning. 

"  You  were.  I  don't  believe  you  were  thinking 
about  us  at  all !  "  said  Cedric  sullenly.  He  and  Amabel 
were  in  one  of  their  worst  restless  moods,  having  been 
kept  in  all  day  by  the  rain,  and  at  another  time  Margery 
would  have  found  them  hard  to  bear  with.  But  now 
she  seemed  to  be  serenely  above  all  such  annoyances ; 
even  Flora's  crossness  at  luncheon  and  Mrs.  Croome's 
vague  displeasure  had  no  power  to  touch  her.  AD 
the  same,  she  drew  a  deep  breath  of  relief  when,  at 
about  half-past  seven,  she  had  the  squabbling  twins 

94 


A  Business  Proposal 

safely  in  bed,  and  could  sit  down  in  peace — a  peace 
that  was  none  too  secure,  for  Amabel  had  gone  to  bed 
in  open  defiance,  announcing  that  she  should  not  sleep 
at  all  for  hours ;  and  that  threat  had  been  made  good 
more  than  once  before,  when  the  excitable,  pampered 
child  had  succeeded  by  dint  of  sheer  wilfulness  in 
keeping  wide  awake  until  the  small  hours,  to  Margery's 
unutterable  weariness. 

At  present,  however,  all  seemed  to  be  calm  in  the 
night-nursery ;  and  Margery  knew  that  she  was  not 
likely  to  be  disturbed  in  any  other  way,  for  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Croome  and  Flora  were  dining  out.  She  sat  quite 
still,  looking  into  the  schoolroom  fire,  and  going  over 
in  her  mind  every  word  that  had  passed  between  her 
and  Denzil  yesterday — such  trivial  words  from  the 
point  of  view  of  anyone  else  :  full,  for  Margery,  of  all 
that  was  delectable  in  the  world.  And  yet,  all  the 
time,  she  knew  quite  well  that  Denzil  was  not  in  the 
least  clever,  and  realized  dimly  that  she  herself  was 
the  stronger  of  the  two  :  and  it  made  no  difference 
at  all. 

She  was  roused  from  her  blissful  reverie  by  the 
unexpected  sound  of  footsteps  outside,  and  came  back 
with  reluctance  to  the  world  of  real  life.  She  looked 
up  in  surprise  at  the  clock — for  surely  the  time  could 
not  have  gone  so  quickly  that  Flora  was  back  already. 
But  no  ;  it  was  only  a  little  after  nine  o'clock.  Her 
supper  was  already  on  the  table.  There  was  no  other 
reason  for  anyone  to  come  near  her.  As  she  turned 
with  some  slight  curiosity  to  the  door,  it  was  opened 
by  Mr.  Privett,  rubicund  and  beaming. 

95 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  How  do  you  do,  Miss  Lennard  ?  "  he  said,  rubbing 
his  hands  together  and  smiling  benevolently  at  her. 
"  I've  taken  Mrs.  Croome  at  her  word,  you  see,  and 
come  back  without  warning  !  " 

"  Oh,  and  they  are  all  dining  out !  They  will  be 
so  sorry,"  exclaimed  Margery. 

"  No  matter !  no  matter !  I  shall  see  them  soon 
enough,"  said  Uncle  Theophilus,  who  did  not,  indeed, 
seem  at  all  distressed  by  the  news.  "  May  I  sit 
down  ?  " 

He  took  the  chair  opposite  Margery,  and  began 
rubbing  his  plump  hands  over  his  fat  knees,  as  if  he 
liked  his  situation  very  well.  Margery  remembered 
that  she  had  something  to  say  to  him,  and  said  it 
hurriedly,  colouring  a  little. 

"  I  have  never  seen  you  to  thank  you  for  the  lovely 
hatpins  you  gave  me  at  Christmas,  Mr.  Privett.  It 
was  so  very  kind  of  you !  " 

"  Tut,  tut !  Nothing  at  all — but  I'm  glad  you 
liked  them,"  said  Uncle  Theophilus,  looking  gratified. 

"  Indeed  I  did  !  They  were  beautiful,"  said  Margery 
sincerely. 

"  Glad  to  see  that  you've  a  better  fire  than  you  had 
that  night,"  said  Uncle  Theophilus ;  and  he  rose  and 
inspected  the  tray  on  the  table  with  no  particular 
favour.  "  Do  you  never  eat  your  supper,  Miss 
Lennard  ?  "  he  inquired  judicially. 

"  Oh,  was  it  you  yourself  who  came  up  that  night  ?  " 
cried  Margery,  blushing  and  very  much  confused. 
She  had  never  had  any  explanation  of  the  advent  of 
that  mysterious  present ;  but  certainly  she  had  never 

96 


A  Business  Proposal 

imagined  that  the  donor  had  brought  it  up  to  the 
schoolroom  in  person. 

"  And  found  you  asleep — and  not  looking  particularly 
happy,"  nodded  Uncle  Theophilus.  "  Are  you  happy 
here,  Miss  Lennard  ?  " 

.  Margery  considered  the  point  in  her  grave  fashion. 
She  had  not  been  brought  up  to  expect  much  happiness, 
or  to  think  much  about  it.  One  did  one's  duty  with 
all  possible  diligence.  If  things  went  well,  one  was 
grateful  and  content ;  if  they  went  badly,  one  was 
regretful — but  still,  as  far  as  might  be,  content,  because 
they  might  easily  have  been  worse.  The  world,  so  far 
as  Margery  was  acquainted  with  it,  was  rather  a  grey 
place — or  had  been,  until  the  coming  of  Denzil  Holyer. 
It  was  the  thought  of  him  that  made  her  stammer  a 
little  in  her  answer. 

"  Yes,"  she  said.  "  I  am — quite  happy,  thank 
you." 

"I'm  sorry  to  hear  it,"  said  Uncle  Theophilus. 
"  Yes,  sorry  f"  he  repeated  emphatically,  meeting  her 
surprised  eyes.  "  Because  I  had  an  idea  that  you 
were  not  any  too  well  treated  here,  and,  as  a  matter  of 
fact " 

He  paused  so  long  that  Margery  felt  obliged  to 
speak. 

"  I  was  thought  very  fortunate  to  get  this  situa- 
tion," she  said.  "  I  should  probably  find  it  very 
difficult  to  secure  another  as  good." 

"  I  came  here  to-night — I  knew  they  were  all  going 
to  be  out,"  said  Uncle  Theophilus,  very  fast  and 
incoherently,  "  to  offer  you  something  better — or,  at 

97  7 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

least,  I  hope  you'll  think  it  better !  Will  you  marry 
me,  Miss  Lennard  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Margery — a  little  cry  of  astonishment 
and  dismay  that  seemed  forced  from  her.  She  looked 
at  Mr.  Privett  opposite,  very  red  and  hot,  wiping  his 
shining  bald  forehead,  and  could  not  believe  her  own 
ears.  She,  on  the  contrary,  was  cold  to  her  finger- 
tips. The  familiar  schoolroom  seemed  all  at  once 
odd  and  strange  ;  the  things  in  it  were  whirling  round. 
The  only  stationary  thing  in  the  world  was  the  little 
round  man  in  the  chair  opposite.  It  was  astonishing 
what  trivial,  unconnected  things  flashed  into  her  mind 
— things  which  had  no  relation  at  all  to  the  matter 
in  hand.  The  fire,  which  had  grown  hollow,  fell  in 
with  a  crash.  The  night-nursery  door  gave  a  creak 
— Margery  remembered  that  she  had  meant  to  oil 
it. 

"  Well,  my  dear  ?  "  said  Mr.  Privett.  His  tone  was 
confident.  He  leaned  forward,  and  put  his  plump 
hand  on  hers ;  and  that  touch,  with  the  familiar  epithet, 
broke  the  spell,  and  brought  Margery  with  a  rush  back 
to  the  reality  of  things. 

"  Oh,  you  can't  mean  it !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  I — I 
must  have  misunderstood  what  you  said!  " 

"  No,  you  didn't,"  said  Mr.  Privett,  who  was  quite 
calm  again  now,  and  smiling  as  ever.  "  I  asked 
you  to  marry  me.  There's  nothing  doubtful  about 
that !  " 

"  Oh,  but — but  it's  impossible  !  "  Margery  gasped. 
"  I  hardly  know  you  !  And  I'm  not  even  pretty — 
you  can't  want  to  marry  me  !  " 


A  Business  Proposal 

Mr.  Privett  still  held  her  hand,  beaming  at  her 
reflectively.  He  seemed  flattered  by  her  incredulity. 

"  Don't  worry  yourself  about  that,  Miss  Lennard," 
he  said  soothingly.  "  I  assure  you  that  I'm  not  in 
the  habit  of  doing  things  with  my  eyes  shut.  No,  I 
don't  consider  you  pretty — you  don't  mind  my  saying 
so,  do  you,  since  you  said  it  first  ?  " 

Margery  smiled  very  faintly.  She  did  not  mind 
that  particular  point  at  all,  but  she  did  mind  the  whole 
situation  very  much  indeed. 

"  But  I'm  a  business  man,  my  dear,"  Mr.  Privett 
went  on  confidently,  "  and  I  bring  my  business  prin- 
ciples into  private  life.  I've  always  made  a  practice 
of — if  you'll  excuse  my  putting  it  in  that  way — of 
buying  low  and  waiting  for  the  rise — waiting  for  the 
rise.  Ha!  ha!" 

This  time  Margery  did  not  smile  at  all.  The  business 
simile,  far  from  amusing  her,  brought  the  hot  blood  to 
her  face,  and  she  tried  to  take  her  hand  away;  but 
Mr.  Privett  held  it  firmly  in  his  fat  clasp. 

"  And  when  I  say  waiting  for  the  rise,  Miss  Lennard, 
I  mean  that,  though  you  mayn't  be  much  to  look  at 
now,  when  you're — eighteen  ?  nineteen  ? — I  fancy 
that  in  a  few  years'  time  you  may  be  a  very  fine  woman. 
Pretty  bits  of  pink  and  white,  like  Flora  here,  don't 
wear.  When  you  are  both  thirty,  no  one  will  look  at 
her,  while  you  will  probably  be  better  worth  looking 
at  than  you  ever  were  before — a  very  creditable  wife 
to  sit  at  the  head  of  any  man's  table.  At  present, 

you  see,  you're  much  too  thin "     Mr.  Privett  looked 

at  her  appraisingly. 

99  7* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

Margery  snatched  her  hand  away  and  started  up. 
She  was  only  sure  of  one  thing — that  she  never  intended 
to  sit  at  the  head  of  Mr.  Privett's  table. 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  she  said  in  a  choking 
voice. 

"  Not  a  bit— not  a  bit,"  beamed  Mr.  Privett.  "  I 
don't  wonder  that  you  are  a  little  surprised — you  won't 
be  the  only  one,  I  imagine  !  "  He  laughed  fatly.  "  But 
I  like  you,  Miss  Lennard — I  do,  indeed — and  I  assure 
you  that  I  am  not  acting  in  a  hurry.  I've  thought  it 
over  well.  You  took  my  fancy  in  a  way  of  your  own, 
the  very  first  time  I  saw  you  ;  for,  even  though  you 
own  yourself  that  you  are  not  pretty,  you've  got  a 
look  of — of  breeding  that  I  don't  often  see  among  the 
ladies  I  meet.  Besides,  to  be  just,"  said  Mr.  Privett 
magnanimously,  "  I'm  quite  aware  that  there  is  some- 
thing to  be  said  on  your  side  of  the  question,  too.  I 
don't  make  any  pretence  of  being  anything  very  grand 
in  the  way  of  birth  myself,  if  you  care  for  that  sort  of 
thing ;  and  I  don't  try  to  hide  that  I  am — several 
years  older  than  you."  He  eyed  Margery  a  trifle 
suspiciously,  as  if  to  see  whether  she  was  ready  to 
accept  "  several  "  as  a  synonym  for  "  forty-five." 

"  Oh,  it's  not  that !  "  Margery  began  to  exclaim. 

"  Very  good  of  you  to  say  so,  my  dear,"  resumed  Mr. 
Privett  promptly,  with  some  slight  relief.  "  I'm  quite 
well  aware  that  I  don't  look  my  age  ;  and  at  times  I 
have  the  spirit  of  a  boy  still !  I  rather  think  that  we 
shall  get  on  together  admirably." 

This  was  terrible.  Margery  broke  in  hastily, 
desperately : 

100 


A  Business  Proposal 

"  Oh,  don't,  please  don't !  For  I'm  afraid  I  can't 
marry  you  at  all !  " 

"  Not — marry — me  ?  "  said  Mr.  Privett,  very 
blankly. 

"  I — I  don't  love  you,"  said  Margery,  in  a  miserable 
little  voice. 

Mr.  Privett  winced  a  little,  and  looked  relieved  and 
hurt  and  amused,  all  at  once  ;  but  the  amusement 
was  very  slight.  Then  he  laughed  rather  sharply. 

"  I'm  a  plain  business  man,  my  dear,"  he  said,  "  and 
I'm  making  you  a  plain  business  proposal :  which, 
upon  my  word,  I  didn't  expect  you  to  refuse  !  I  may 
not  be  so  young  as  I  was,  or  so  very  handsome,  perhaps, 
and  anybody  who  likes  to  ask  may  find  out  that  my 
father  started  life  as  an  errand-boy ;  but  I'm  as  hale 
and  hearty  as  many  a  young  man,  and  I  fancy  I  could 
buy  up  half  your  aristocratic  friends  and  never  feel 
the  loss.  I'll  do  my  best  to  make  you  a  good  husband  ; 
and  you  shall  have  more  money  to  spend  in  a  month 
than  you've  ever  had  in  your  life  !  " 

"  Oh,  please,  please  don't  talk  like  that !  "  Margery 
cried  miserably.  "  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by 
talking  about  aristocratic  friends  ;  my  father  was  only 
a  poor  clergyman.  And,  indeed,  I  think  you  are  so 
kind,  and  I  like  you  very  much  ;  and  I  wish  you 
wouldn't  talk  about  money — that  has  nothing  to  do 
with  it.  But  I  really  can't  marry  you." 

The  night-nursery  door  was  creaking  again.  Mr. 
Privett  turned  suddenly  and  swore  at  it :  which  made 
Margery  jump,  for  she  had  never  met  with  that  parti- 
cular verb  in  real  life  before.  When  he  turned  to  her 

101 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

again,  his  round,  cherubic  face  was  wearing  quite  a 
new  expression. 

"  Now,  no  shilly-shallying  nonsense,  Miss  Lennard  !  " 
he  said  very  sharply.  "  I'm  not  a  boy  to  be  played 
with  for  your  amusement.  I  want  a  final  answer, 
once  for  all.  If  you  refuse  me  now,  it's  the  last  chance 
you'll  get — I  shan't  ask  you  again.  Do  you  understand 
that  ?  " 

"  I  quite  understand ;  and  I  certainly  hope  that  you 
will  never  ask  me  again/"  said  Margery,  with  a  very 
serious  dignity. 

"  And  you  refuse  ? "  Mr.  Privett  rapped  out,  as  if 
he  could  not  believe  his  own  ears.  He  leaned  forward, 
staring  at  her,  his  hands  on  his  knees.  His  prominent 
eyes  looked  almost  ready  to  start  out  of  his  head. 

"  I  am  very  sorry  if  I  hurt  you,  because  you  have 
been  so  kind  to  me,"  said  Margery,  and  her  voice 
shook  a  little.  "  But,  indeed,  Mr.  Privett,  I  never 
thought  of  such  a  thing;  and  I  cannot  possibly  marry 

you." 

Mr.  Privett  got  up  suddenly,  knocking  over  his 
chair.  He  was  not  a  dignified  little  man  at  the  best 
of  times  ;  now,  in  his  anger  and  haste,  he  was  even 
less  so  than  usual. 

"  I  didn't  know  that  there  was  a  girl  in  the  world 
foolish  enough  to  refuse  thirty  thousand  a  year !  "  he 
said  in  a  voice  that  was  like  the  snarl  of  a  cross  dog. 
"  Well,  I  shan't  wait  for  Mrs.  Croome.  There  is  no 
occasion,  in  fact,  for  her  to  know  that  I  have  been 
here  at  all — oh,  I  suppose  that  is  too  much  to  ask, 
though  !  It  isn't  every  woman  in  the  world  who  can 

102 


A  Business  Proposal 

boast  of  having  made  a  fool  of  Theophilus  Privett ! 
You  ought  to  thank  me  for  having  provided  you  with 
a  fine  joke,  Miss  Lennard !  "  His  little,  furious, 
suspicious  eyes  glared  at  her. 

Margery  was  standing  too ;  and  by  this  time  she  also 
was  angry. 

"  There  is  not  the  smallest  chance  of  my  telling  Mrs. 
Croome,"  she  said  coldly.  "  If  you  can  think  that  of 
me,  I  am  surprised  that  you  should  have  cared  to  ask 
me  to  marry  you  !  " 

She  stood  a  great  deal  taller  than  he  was,  and  very 
straight.  Her  large  eyes  opened  and  flashed,  as  perhaps 
they  had  never  done  in  her  life  before.  Into  Mr. 
Privett' s  angry  glance  there  crept  suddenly  admiration, 
regret,  even  a  touch  of  a  curious  cringing  fear.  It  is 
possible  that,  if  Margery  had  offered  the  slightest 
encouragement,  he  might  have  been  induced  to  eat 
his  words  of  five  minutes  before,  and  propose  to  her 
again.  She,  however,  walked  straight  over  to  the 
door,  opened  it,  and  held  it  for  him  to  pass  out. 

"  Good-bye,  Mr.  Privett  !  "  she  said ;  and  looked  at 
him  very  directly  under  her  level  dark  brows. 

Mr.  Privett  said  nothing  at  all :  but  he  crept  out 
past  her  with  an  extraordinary  quietness  and  meekness, 
and  he  looked  very  small. 

As  for  Margery,  she  went  back  to  the  fireplace,  and, 
leaning  on  the  high  mantelpiece,  laughed  hysterically. 
It  seemed  such  an  absurd  impossibility  that  she  should 
have  refused  to  share  thirty  thousand  a  year  !  She 
could  hardly  believe  that  that  extraordinary  little 
scene  had  taken  place  at  all. 

103 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

The  night-nursery  door  creaked  again  unobserved. 
A  little  impish  face,  with  a  very  wide-open  pair  of 
eyes,  peered  cautiously  round  the  corner,  taking  in 
everything — Margery  standing  by  the  fireplace,  the 
untouched  supper,  the  overturned  chair.  It  was  not 
for  nothing  that  Amabel  had  succeeded  in  fulfilling  her 
threat  of  keeping  herself  awake.  But  when  Margery 
went  to  bed  some  half-hour  later,  her  small  companion 
was  lying  quite  still,  with  eyes  firmly  shut,  and  the 
bed-clothes  drawn  decorously  up  to  her  pointed  chin. 


104 


CHAPTER  VII 

AMABEL  AS  A   PERSON   OF   IMPORTANCE 

"  VtTTHAT  do  you  want,  Amabel  ?  No,  you  know 
W  quite  well  that  I  can't  have  you  in  my 
room  at  this  time  in  the  morning  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Croome 
sharply.  "  Go  back  to  Miss  Lennard.  What  is  she 
thinking  about  to  let  you  run  away  from  her  like 
this  ?  " 

The  Croome  twins  were  not  in  the  habit  of  obeying 
unless  it  seemed  good  to  them.  Amabel  sidled,  unper- 
turbed, into  her  mother's  room,  and  looked  up  at  her 
with  her  sharp,  precocious  glance. 

"  I've  something  important  to  say  to  you,"  she 
observed  calmly.  "  Please  send  Juliette  away  !  " 

"  Nonsense  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Croome,  turning  back  to 
her  dressing-table  and  speaking  very  crossly  indeed. 
"  What  a  ridiculous  child  you  are,  Amabel !  Say 
what  you  have  to  say,  and  then  run  away  at  once." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mind !  "  Amabel  returned  cheerfully. 
"  Only  I  thought  Uncle  Theophilus  might." 

"  Uncle  Theophilus  !  "  said  Mrs.  Croome. 

"  Since  he  was  so  very  anxious  that  you  shouldn't 
know  he  was  here  last  night,"  Amabel  pursued,  un- 
ruffled. 

105 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

Mrs.  Croome  started.  Her  sharp  eyes,  meeting  her 
maid's  sharper  eyes  in  the  glass,  saw  something  there — 
a  sly,  half-suppressed  amusement  and  curiosity — that 
changed  her  tone  very  rapidly. 

"  Go  and  fetch  my  letters,  Juliette,  and  come  back 
in  ten  minutes,"  she  commanded. 

"  Bien,  madame ! "  said  the  watchful  Juliette ; 
and  slipped,  cat-footed,  out  of  the  room.  Uncle  Theo- 
philus  might  have  bribed  the  men-servants  to  say 
nothing  to  their  master  and  mistress  of  his  evening 
visit,  but  he  had  no  power  over  the  tongues  and 
imaginations  of  the  servants'  hall. 

"  Now,  Amabel — what  do  you  mean  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Croome. 

"  Only  about  Uncle  Theophilus  being  here  and  not 
wanting  you  to  know,"  said  Amabel,  in  a  little  irritating 
sing-song.  "  I  thought  you  ought  to  know,  you  see." 

"  Here  last  night  !  and  not  wanting  me  to  know  !  " 
cried  Mrs.  Croome.  "  Nonsense,  child !  You  must 
have  dreamt  it !  Of  course  he  would  have  waited  till 
we  came  in — and,  if  he  was  here,  how  should  you  know 
about  it  ?  " 

"  Because  he  was  in  the  schoolroom  all  the  time," 
Amabel  explained  affably. 

"In  the  schoolroom!"  Mrs.  Croome  exclaimed,  in 
astonishment  and  indignation.  "  But  you  were  in  bed 
before  we  went  out !  " 

"  He  didn't  want  us,"  said  Amabel.  "  He  wanted 
Miss  Lennard.  He  asked  her  to  marry  him." 

"  Asked  Miss  Lennard "     The  words  died  away 

on  Mrs.  Croome's  paralyzed  tongue. 

1 06 


Amabel  as  a  Person  of  Importance 

Amabel  nodded,  and  proceeded  to  poke  about  among 
the  little  mysterious  pots  and  bottles  that  crowded  the 
dressing-table — a  forbidden  joy,  of  which  she  shrewdly 
availed  herself  at  this  crisis,  when  Mrs.  Croome's 
thoughts  were  otherwise  occupied. 

"  Amabel,  you — you  must  have  been  asleep  and 
dreaming  !  "  said  Mrs.  Croome  feebly. 

"  No  !  "  said  Amabel,  placidly  continuing  her  explor- 
ations, and  shaking  the  long  curls  backwards  and  for- 
wards for  emphasis.  "  I  was  standing  at  the  night  - 
nursery  door  all  the  time.  They  thought  I  was  asleep. 
But  I  knew  you  ought  to  know  !  Besides,  it  was  very 
interesting." 

"  Tell  me  exactly  what  happened,"  said  Mrs.  Croome, 
rather  faintly  still.  She  could  hardly  bring  herself 
to  believe  the  astounding  tale  ;  but,  at  least,  she  had 
better  hear  it. 

"  Will  you  take  me  to  tea  at  Fuller's  if  I  tell  you  ?  " 
inquired  Amabel. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  " 

"  And  let  me  have  as  many  sweets  as  I  like  to  bring 
home — and  choose  the  kinds  myself  ?  " 

"  Yes  !    Go  on  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Croome. 

Amabel  sat  down  in  the  largest  available  chair, 
spread  out  her  skirts,  raised  her  elfish  eyes  to  her  mother's 
face,  and  proceeded  to  unfold  her  tale.  When  she 
chose,  and  when  there  was  no  question  of  lessons,  she 
had  a  remarkably  retentive  memory.  The  conversa- 
tion between  Margery  and  Mr.  Privett  was  repeated 
almost  word  for  word,  including — with  immense  gusto 
— the  latter's  explosive  remark  when  the  door  creaked. 

107 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  I  was  afraid  they'd  find  me  out  then,"  said  Amabel 
frankly.  "  But  I  don't  think  they  ever  thought  of 
anything  but  just  themselves  !  " 

Mrs.  Croome  held  her  breath  with  horror  as  she 
listened;  but  the  end  of  the  story  was  so  unexpected 
that  her  astonishment  broke  out  into  words  : 

"  Amabel !  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  she  went  on 
refusing  him  ?  " 

"  I've  told  you  just  what  they  said  !  "  answered 
Amabel,  affronted. 

"  But  was  that  all  ?  You  are  sure  ?  "  Mrs.  Croome 
could  hardly  believe  her  ears. 

"  I'm  quite  sure  !  "  said  Amabel,  with  her  pointed 
chin  in  the  air. 

Mrs.  Croome  rose  hastily,  in  a  whirl  of  wrath  and 
excitement.  Perhaps  all  was  not  lost  even  yet — 
if  she  acted  promptly. 

"  Ring  the  bell  for  Juliette  !  "  she  cried. 

"  I  expect  she  is  just  outside  the  door,"  said  Amabel, 
with  the  calm  that  is  born  of  experience.  "  She 
generally  is  when  you  have  anyone  in  here  talking — 
besides,  I  heard  her  trying  not  to  sneeze  a  minute  ago." 

She  ran  to  the  door  and  opened  it,  calling  for  Juliette 
in  her  shrill  voice.  The  answer  came — certainly  from 
a  little  distance,  but  with  such  evident  suppressed 
fury  that  Juliette  might  quite  conceivably  have  been 
near  enough  to  hear  at  least  the  last  remark.  Her  glare 
at  Amabel,  as  she  came  in,  would  have  withered  a  more 
susceptible  person ;  but  Amabel  merely  jerked  her 
impertinent  head  at  her,  and  grinned  precociously. 

"  Tell  Miss  Lennard  to  come  here  at  once  1 "  said 
108 


Amabel  as  a  Person  of  Importance 

Mrs.  Croome  :  and  Juliette  departed  in  silence  to  give 
the  message  as  offensively  as  she  could — partly  to 
wreak  the  vengeance  that  she  dared  not  wreak  on 
Amabel ;  partly  because  it  was  abundantly  evident 
that  a  governess  in  disgrace  was  a  perfectly  safe 
person  to  treat  with  contumely. 

Margery  was  seated  quietly  at  the  schoolroom  table 
with  Cedric,  setting  him  a  copy.  She  did  not  take  any 
notice  of  Juliette's  tone,  having  found  by  experience 
that  that  was  the  simplest  and  best  method.  Nor  did 
she  feel  any  great  degree  of  uneasiness — for,  since  she 
believed  that  she  and  Mr.  Privett  shared  their  secret 
between  them,  it  seemed  impossible  that  any  echo  of 
last  night's  scene  should  have  reached  Mrs.  Croome. 
Probably  this  summons  had  to  do  with  nothing  more 
serious  than  the  inexplicable  disappearance  of  Amabel 
from  the  schoolroom. 

"  Shut  the  door,  Miss  Lennard  !  "  said  Mrs.  Croome 
explosively.  "  Now — I  should  like  to  know  what  you 
have  to  say  for  yourself !  " 

"  I — I  beg  your  pardon  ?  "  said  Margery,  astounded. 

Mrs.  Croome  was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  large 
room,  actually  trembling  with  rage  ;  and  Margery, 
who  had  never  before  been  privileged  to  see  her  patroness 
with  her  toilet  uncompleted,  could  not  help  observing 
with  interest  the  beautiful  wavy  hair  that  lay,  debased 
from  its  usual  lofty  position,  on  the  dressing-table.  But 
if  Mrs.  Croome  was  lacking  in  some  of  her  ordinary 
claims  to  admiration,  the  extreme  anger  of  her  face 
and  voice  made  her  more  than  ever  a  person  to  be 
reckoned  with. 

109 


The  Real   Mrs.   Holyer 

"  Don't  pretend  innocence,  you  designing  creature    ' 
she  cried.     "  You  know  well  enough  what  I  mean  1  " 

"  Indeed,  I  do  not,  Mrs.  Croome,"  said  Margery, 
turning  rather  white. 

"  Do  you  dare  to  tell  me,"  cried  Mrs.  Croome,  "  that 
you  did  not  see  my  uncle,  Mr.  Privett,  last  night  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  denying  it,"  said  Margery. 

"  And  you  consider  it  suitable — even  respectable" 
said  Mrs.  Croome,  with  withering  emphasis,  "  to  receive 
gentlemen  visitors  alone,  in  the  middle  of  the  night, 
upstairs  in  the  schoolroom — when  you  know  that 
everyone  is  out  ?  " 

Margery's  head  went  up.  She  looked  straight  at 
Mrs.  Croome. 

"  Mr.  Privett  came  just  after  nine  o'clock,"  she 
said  coldly.  "  No  one  could  have  been  more  sur- 
prised to  see  him  than  I  was." 

"  I  daresay — I  daresay  !  "  sneered  Mrs.  Croome. 
"  You  would  like  to  tell  me  also,  I  suppose,  that  every- 
thing that  passed  between  you  was  a  great  surprise  to 
you — that  you  had  never  tried  to  lead  him  on " 

The  colour  flew  to  Margery's  cheeks. 

"  It  was  probably  not  the  first  visit  that  he  had  paid 
to  the  schoolroom  late  in  the  evening  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Croome. 

Margery  opened  her  lips  in  indignant  denial,  and 
then  closed  them  again,  colouring  more  than  before. 
She  had  suddenly  remembered  that  Mr.  Privett  had 
been  guilty  of  that  offence  once  before,  on  Christmas 
night,  when  he  brought  up  his  kind  little  present. 
True,  on  that  occasion  she  herself  had  been  asleep  and 

no 


Amabel  as  a  Person  of  Importance 

quite  unconscious  of  his  visit,  but  Mrs.  Croome  was  not 
likely  to  believe  that. 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  tell  me  that  you  had 
no  idea  of  what  he  came  up  to  say  to  you  1  "  said  Mrs. 
Croome,  watching  her  like  a  cat  with  a  mouse. 

"  I  had  not,"  said  Margery  sincerely. 

Mrs.  Croome  laughed — a  very  unpleasant  laugh 
indeed. 

"  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all  your  innocence  and  all 
your  surprise,  I  gather  that  you  were  going  to  keep  me 
in  ignorance  of  all  this  1  " 

"  Certainly  I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you,"  said  Margery 
indignantly.  "  It  would  have  been  most  unfair  to  Mr. 
Privett ;  and  I  cannot  imagine  how  you  came  to  know 
anything  about  it." 

"  Unfair  to  Mr.  Privett — oh,  certainly  1  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Croome.  "  Yes,  I  have  no  doubt  that  you  are 
very  considerate — for  Mr.  Privett  1  Not  a  thought 
of  me — for  whom  it  really  is  of  some  small  consequence 
to  know  what  sort  of  person  I  have  taken  into  my  house  ! 
Yes,  I  daresay  you  do  wonder  how  the  truth  came  to 
my  ears.  I  should  have  known  nothing  about  it  if 
it  had  not  been  for  that  innocent  child  there,  who  was 
left  in  your  charge  under  the  impression — the  mistaken 
impression,  Miss  Lennard — that  you  were  a  per- 
fectly suitable  person  to  have  the  care  of  young 
children  I " 

She  pointed  dramatically  to  Amabel,  who  emerged 
at  this  point  from  an  enjoyable  retirement  behind  the 
dressing-table,  where  she  had  taken  full  advantage 
of  her  mother's  preoccupation.  Unfortunately,  how- 

in 


The  Real   Mrs.  Holyer 

ever,  the  effect  of  her  entrance  on  the  scene  was  rather 
spoilt  by  the  elaborately  rouged  cheeks  and  coal-black 
eyebrows  with  which  she  had  been  endowing  herself 
unperceived.  Mrs.  Croome's  wrath  was  by  no  means 
lessened  by  this  unexpected  revelation  of  the  secrets 
of  the  prison-house. 

"  Amabel,  how  dare  you  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Go 
at  once  to  Juliette,  you  naughty,  naughty  child ! 
and  ask  her  to  make  you  presentable  again." 

"  It's  not  Juliette's  place  to  wash  me,"  said  Amabel 
pertly.  "  Miss  Lennard  must  come  1  " 

"  I  have  not  done  with  Miss  Lennard,"  said  Mrs. 
Croome  grimly.  "  Go  at  once,  Amabel !  " 

Amabel,  recognizing  for  once  that  her  mother's  tone 
meant  instant  obedience,  and  yet  very  loath  to  leave 
so  interesting  a  scene,  trailed  slowly  out  of  the 
room. 

"  And  now,  Miss  Lennard — what  have  you  to  say 
for  yourself  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Croome,  with  exactly 
a  cat's  pounce  upon  the  mouse  that  has  escaped  her 
paw  for  a  moment. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  say,"  answered  Margery,  holding 
up  her  head  proudly.  "  Since  you  seem  to  know  all 
about  it,  Mrs.  Croome,  I  am  quite  willing  to  own  that 
Mr.  Privett  asked  me  to  marry  him  last  night.  But 
I  cannot  see  that  I  am  to  blame  in  any  way." 

"  You  cannot  see  that  you  are  to  blame  !  "  Mrs.  Croome 
repeated  slowly  and  gaspingly,  as  if  the  audacity  of 
the  defence  had  literally  taken  her  breath  away.  "  You 
deliberately  lead  on  and  inveigle  my  uncle — my  uncle, 
Mr.  Privett — into  proposing  to  you,  and  then  you  say 

112 


Amabel  as  a   Person  of  Importance 

that  you  are  not  to  blame  !  Your  conduct  has  been 
shameful,  Miss  Lennard — shameful,  designing,  and  most 
underhand  !  " 

Then  Margery  lost  her  temper — the  most  foolish 
thing  that  she  could  have  done  ;  but,  after  all,  she 
was  only  eighteen. 

"  I  did  not  lead  him  on  !  I  was  not  underhand  1  " 
she  exclaimed.  "  I  never  dreamt  of  his  thinking  of 
such  a  thing.  Why  should  I  ?  And  certainly  I  never 
wanted  him  to  propose  to  me.  I  would  not  marry  him 
if  he  asked  me  a  hundred  times  !  " 

The  storm  was  upon  her.  Perhaps  this  last  assertion, 
in  its  evident  sincerity,  had  relieved  Mrs.  Croome's 
mind  of  some  lingering,  alarming  doubt,  which  had 
in  some  slight  measure  served  to  bridle  her  tongue. 
At  any  rate,  she  made  now  no  further  effort  to  restrain 
herself  in  any  way,  but  let  loose  the  full  tempest  of  her 
wrath.  Margery  stood  astounded.  She  had  never 
heard  such  a  flow  of  violent  language  ;  she  did  not 
even  know,  occasionally,  exactly  what  Mrs.  Croome 
meant.  But,  feeling  in  herself  the  consciousness  of 
innocence,  and  being  no  coward,  she  merely  waxed 
indignant,  after  the  first  shock  was  over,  and  was 
finally  moved  to  a  speech  of  supreme  unwisdom. 

"  Your  conduct  has  been  abominable — it  could  not 
have  been  worse  1  "  was  Mrs.  Croome's  last  outburst 
before  she  was  forced  to  pause  for  breath. 

"  Then  you  would  have  preferred  me  to  accept  Mr 
Privett  ?  "  said  Margery. 

An  awful  pause  followed ;  and  Margery,  realizing  her 
folly,  could  almost  have  brought  herself  to  be  sorry  for 

113  8 


The  Real   Mrs.   Holyer 

the  impertinence,  if  her  pride  had  not  been  too  sorely 
wounded  by  the  lash  of  Mrs.  Croome's  tongue.  At 
least,  her  unguarded  speech  had  put  an  end  to  the 
storm  of  vituperation.  When  Mrs.  Croome  spoke  again, 
it  was  with  a  slow,  heavy  and  cold  anger,  which  Margery 
had  in  some  small  degree  experienced  before  :  less 
violent,  but  hardly  less  alarming. 

"  Of  course,  after  this,  Miss  Lennard,  you  quite 
realize  that  I  can  keep  you  no  longer." 

"  Certainly  !  "  said  Margery,  with  her  head  up,  but 
dismay  in  her  heart. 

Mrs.  Croome  considered  her  for  a  moment  or  two, 
apparently  weighing  something  in  her  mind.  To  tell 
the  truth,  her  first  intention  had  been  to  dismiss  Margery 
on  the  spot.  But,  since  the  girl  had  so  passionately 
declared  that  nothing  would  ever  induce  her  to  accept 
Mr.  Privett,  it  seemed  an  unnecessary  and  certainly 
inconvenient  precaution.  Mrs.  Croome  had  all  a  rich 
woman's  dislike  to  paying  for  services  that  she  had  not 
received ;  she  also  had  had  time  to  realize  how  very 
tiresome  it  would  be  for  her  to  have  the  twins  on 
her  hands  until  Margery  could  be  replaced. 

"  I  shall  be  obliged,  Miss  Lennard,"  she  said,  there- 
fore, with  the  same  deadly  calm,  "  if  you  will  take  a 
month's  warning  from  to-day." 

"  Certainly ! "  said  Margery  again.  She  was  too 
inexperienced  in  her  profession  to  understand  that  the 
phrase  was  an  intentional  slight. 

Mrs.  Croome  glanced  at  a  coloured  calendar  on  the 
wall. 

"  That  will  make  it  the  thirteenth  of  February- 
114 


Amabel  as  a  Person  of  Importance 

Friday,"  she  said  with  precision.  It  would  have  been 
highly  inconvenient  to  her,  in  filling  Margery's  place, 
if  there  had  been  any  misunderstanding  as  to  calendar 
or  lunar  months. 

Margery  looked  at  the  calendar  also,  and  said  briefly  : 
'Yes." 

"  And  now,"  said  Mrs.  Croome,  "it  is  quite  time  for 
the  children  to  go  out !  " 

Margery  turned  to  go. 

"  One  moment,  Miss  Lennard  !  "  said  Mrs.  Croome. 

Margery  turned  where  she  stood,  near  the  door, 
and  looked  back  at  her. 

"  You  will  naturally  understand,  of  course,"  said 
Mrs.  Croome,  with  a  slight  twist  of  her  thin  lips,  too 
unpleasant  for  a  smile,  "  that  it  will  hardly  be  advisable 
for  you  to  refer  your  next  employer  to  me  for  a 
character !  " 

"  Thank  you  !  "  said  Margery,  with  her  head  still 
up ;  and  left  the  presence,  very  white,  and  with  dis- 
may beginning  rapidly  to  take  the  place  of  anger 
in  her  heart.  It  all  meant  so  little  to  Mrs.  Croome  : 
a  passing  unpleasantness,  a  brief  time  of  discomfort 
while  she  found  a  new  governess  and  the  twins  settled 
down  again.  But  for  Margery  herself  the  whole 
business  meant  something  very  serious  indeed — some- 
thing that  might  prove  an  almost  insuperable  barrier 
to  her  securing  another  engagement. 

"  Why  do  your  hands  shake  so,  Miss  Lennard  ?  " 
Cedric  inquired  as  she  fastened  his  coat. 

Amabel,  already  dressed,  pursed  up  her  lips  mys- 
teriously. "  Hush  !  "  she  said.  "  It's  because  of — 

115  8* 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

you  know — what  I  told  you,  Cedric.  Don't  ask 
questions  !  " 

It  seemed  to  Margery  almost  the  last  straw  that 
the  children  should  be  interested  spectators  of  her 
disgrace.  She  knew,  as  she  passed  through  the  hall 
with  them,  that  all  the  servants  also  were  perfectly 
well  aware  of  what  had  happened ;  she  could  discern 
a  difference  even  in  the  manner — never  too  polite  to 
her — of  the  man  who  held  open  the  door  for  them  to 
go  out.  The  prospect  of  a  month  of  this,  with  no 
settled  arrangements  at  the  end  of  it  for  her  future, 
seemed  more  than  she  could  bear.  The  bright  coldness 
of  the  day,  which  at  another  time  would  have 
exhilarated  and  cheered  her,  now  made  her  shiver 
forlornly.  It  was  an  aggravation  of  her  misery  that 
the  children,  excited  by  such  an  eventful  morning, 
were  gay  and  lively,  chattering  merrily,  asking  a 
thousand  questions.  The  short  walk  to  the  Gardens 
was  a  weary  trudge  that  might  have  been  ten  miles. 
Once  there,  she  sat  down  on  the  first  convenient  seat, 
feeling  as  if  she  had  lived  through  any  number  of 
hours  since  the  beginning  of  the  day. 

"  Surely  I  can't  be  in  luck  again  ?  "  said  a  voice 
behind  her — a  kind,  merry  voice,  which  changed 
suddenly  as  Margery,  starting,  turned  her  white  face 
into  view.  "  Miss  Lennard !  "  said  Denzil  Holyer. 
"  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

The  children,  overjoyed  at  sight  of  their  friend, 
were  racing  up.  Margery  felt  that  Amabel,  at  least, 
was  open-mouthed  to  tell  of  last  night's  adventure, 
and  felt,  also,  that  she  could  not  bear  it.  "  Oh,  please, 

116 


(Amabel  as  a  Person  of  Importance 

please  make  them  go  away  !  "  she  said;  and  the  forlorn 
tears  streamed  suddenly  down  her  cheeks. 

Denzil  rose  gallantly  to  the  occasion.  He  stood 
between  her  and  the  children,  screening  her  from  their 
inquisitive  eyes,  and  impressively  took  something— 
a  small  thing — from  his  pocket. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  cried  Amabel,  effectual^  diverted 
for  the  moment. 

"It's  my  pencil-case,"  said  Denzil;  and  held  it 
reflectively,  as  if  considering. 

"  Let  me  hold  it !  Let  me  hold  it !  "  screamed  the 
twins  in  concert.  It  was  a  very  remarkable  possession, 
at  least  from  their  point  of  view,  having  a  cunning 
screw  to  lengthen  or  shorten  it,  which  fascinated  Cedric, 
and  a  piece  of  amber  set  in  the  end,  which  was  very 
precious  in  Amabel's  eyes.  They  had  been  allowed 
to  look  at  it  once  or  twice  as  a  special  favour. 

"  No,"  said  Denzil ;  and  he  still  held  it  reflectively, 
making  the  amber  shine  in  the  winter  sunshine,  and 
giving  the  screw  an  enchanting  little  twist.  "  Nobody 
is  going  to  hold  it  this  morning  ;  but  one  of  you  is  going 
to  have  it — to  keep." 

"  Oh!"  the  twins  chorused  breathlessly.  "But 
which  of  us  ?  " 

Denzil  paused  again — possibly  for  effect ;  possibly 
because  he  was  inventing  his  answer. 

"  You  see  those  two  trees  in  the  next  path  but 
one?"  he  said.  "Well,  whiche/er  of  you  can  hop 
from  one  of  those  to  the  other  tehall  have  the  pencil- 
case  as  a  prize." 

"  Oh,  come  quick  !  "  cried  Amabel,  dancing  with 
117 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

excitement.     "  And  you  will  come  and  see  which  of 
us  does  it  best,  Mr.  Holyer  !  " 

"  No,"  said  Denzil,  with  whose  plans  this  did  not 
match  at  all.  "  I  put  you  on  your  honour,  mind. 
You  are  to  take  turns,  and  the  one  who  isn't  hopping 
is  to  watch  the  one  who  is.  If  you  put  the  second 
foot  down  at  all,  that  spoils  your  chance — you  must 
wait  for  your  next  turn.  If  you  quarrel,  there  will  be 
no  pencil-case  for  either  of  you.  Now,  then,  off  you 
go!" 

The  twins  were  gone  before  he  had  finished  speaking. 
Almost  as  quickly,  Denzil  turned  to  Margery  and  sat 
down  by  her.  She  was  hastily  wiping  away  her  tears, 
and  half  laughing  through  them. 

"  How  clever  you  are  !  I'm  so  sorry — I  do  beg  your 
pardon  for  being  so  silly,"  she  said. 

"  Now,  tell  me  what  is  the  matter,  please,"  said 
Denzil ;  and  his  pleasant  voice  sounded  all  at  once  that 
of  a  man. 

"  Mrs.  Croome  has  dismissed  me,"  said  Margery  with 
a  catch  in  her  breath. 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Denzil. 

Margery  hung  her  head,  and  turned  as  red  as  she  had 
been  white  before.  After  all,  she  would  rather  tell 
him  herself  than  let  him  have  a  garbled  account 
from  the  twins  or  anyone  else  ;  and  accordingly  she 
faltered  out  her  brief,  confused  statement.  If  she 
had  looked  at  him,  she  would  have  noticed  a  curious 
change  in  his  face  to  match  the  change  in  his 
voice. 

There  was  a  little  pause  when  she  had  finished. 
118 


Amabel  as  a  Person  of  Importance 

"  Perhaps  you  are — sorry  for  the  answer  you  gave 
last  night  ?  "  he  suggested  carefully. 

"  Oh,  no  !  Oh,  no  !  "  Margery  looked  up  quickly 
with  candid  eyes. 

"  Or  you  don't  want  to  leave  Mrs.  Croome  ?  " 

"  It's  not  that,"  said  Margery.  "  But  she  says  that 
she  will  give  me  no  reference  at  all.  It  will  make  it  so 
difficult — I  think  perhaps  impossible — for  me  to  find 
another  situation.  And — and  there  are  difficulties 
enough,  without  that !  "  Her  voice,  unexpectedly 
treacherous,  faltered  and  broke. 

"  Don't — don't  cry  any  more — I  can't  bear  it !  " 
said  Denzil.  "  Miss  Lennard — Margery — I  love  you — 
oh,  you  must  know  that  I  love  you  !  Will  you  marry 
me  to-morrow — next  week  ?  " 

Margery  could  only  look  at  him,  breathless  and 
speechless. 

"  I  won't  have  you  at  the  mercy  of  any  more  wretched 
old  women !  "  he  cried.  "  I've  stood  it  long  enough, 
and  Mrs.  Croome  shall  be  the  last  of  them  !  Oh, 
Margery,  don't  you  care  for  me  a  little  ?  " 

Margery  found  herself  trembling  violently.  She 
could  only  go  on  looking  at  him  and  listening,  and 
wonder  when  she  would  wake  up  from  this  extraordinary 
dream. 

"  Don't  you  care — even  a  little  ?  "  said  Denzil;  and 
the  distress  and  trouble  in  his  tone  gave  her  voice 
suddenly  back  to  her.  Of  course  she  cared — much 
more  than  a  little ;  and  with  great  simplicity  she  told 
him  so.  And  quite  suddenly  it  was  not  a  dream  any 
more,  but  a  wonderful,  incredible,  glorious  reality. 

119 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

She  looked  round  her  at  enchanted  Gardens.  There 
had  never  before  been  such  a  bright,  clear,  heavenly 
winter  morning.  The  world  was  the  same,  and  yet 
new,  strange,  delightful.  She  was  engaged  to  Denzil 
Holyer ;  and  Denzil,  with  all  possible  seriousness  and 
earnestness,  was  urging  her  to  marry  him  the  very  day 
she  left  Mrs.  Croome. 

"  Oh,  I  couldn't — it  is  too  soon  !  "  said  Margery, 
half  scared. 

"  Why  too  soon  ?  "  cried  Denzil.  "  It's  a  month 
off — far  too  long,  7  think  !  What  is  there  to  wait 
for,  except  to  get  a  ring  and  a  licence  ?  Why,  if  there 
is  a  whole  month  to  wait,  we  can  be  married  by  banns, 
if  you  like — and  I'm  sure  that  always  seems  long 
enough  !  " 

Margery  sat  silent,  with  a  breathless  feeling.  She 
looked  away  at  the  unconscious  Croome  twins,  in  their 
conveniently  distant  path.  Amabel  was  hopping 
steadily  and  successfully.  Cedric  watched  her  triumphal 
progress  with  anxious,  grudging  eyes. 

"  You  can't  find  any  objection,  you  see,  when  you 
come  to  try,"  said  Denzil.  "  The  only  possible  thing 
is  your  being  under  age.  Is  there  anyone  who  can 
object  ?  " 

Margery  shook  her  head.  Her  only  relation  was  a 
distant  cousin,  who  had  no  sort  of  jurisdiction  over 
her;  and  she  had  to  own  as  much. 

"  Well,  then  !  "  cried  Denzil  with  complete  triumph  ; 
but  almost  as  he  spoke  a  change  came  over  him.  The 
light  died  out  of  his  face,  the  eager  confidence  of  his 
manner  was  gone.  His  very  voice  was  different,  as 

120 


Amabel  as  a  Person  of  Importance 

he  said  bitterly    and  half  to  himself  :    "  What  a  fool 
I've  been  !    What  a  fool !  " 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Margery,  frightened. 

"  Only  that  I  haven't  a  sou  in  the  world  except 
what  my  father  allows  me  !  "  said  Denzil. 

Margery  sat  aghast.  An  allowance  represented  to 
her  some  twenty  or  thirty  poundSj  and  she  had  quite 
a  practical  knowledge  of  the  expenses  of  a  very  modest 
way  of  life. 

"  If  only  I'd  been  born  with  brains !  "  groaned 
Denzil.  "  There's  my  cousin  Horace,  only  two 
years  older  than  I  am,  and  quite  decently  off 
already." 

"  But  you  said  that  you  were  only  waiting  to  settle 
what  you  meant  to  do  !  "  said  Margery. 

"  Of  course.  And  I  must  settle  now,  as  fast  as 
possible,"  said  Denzil.  "  But  in  the  meantime 

"  It  means  waiting  a  little,"  suggested  Margery. 

"  I  can't  wait !  I  won't  wait !  "  Denzil  exclaimed. 
"  I'm  not  going  to  have  you  slaving  out  your  life  again 
for  anyone,  Margery,  now  that  you  belong  to  me.  I 
don't  approve  of  women  working — you  shall  never  earn 
another  penny  in  your  life  !  " 

"  But  if  we  must  wait  ?  "  said  Margery,  gently  and 
patiently. 

"  I  suppose  we  could  not  possibly  manage  on  my 
allowance,"  said  Denzil  with  an  anxious  frown. 

"  How  much  is  it  ?  "  Margery  inquired  seriously. 

"  My  father  allowed  me  four  hundred  at  Cam- 
bridge  " 

"  Four  hundred  !     Pounds  t  " 

121 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

In  the  midst  of  his  perplexity  and  worry  Denzil 
had  to  laugh  at  her  petrified  face. 

"  You've  had  all  that  to  spend  every  year — just 
for  yourself  ?  "  she  exclaimed  with  awe. 

"  It  didn't  seem  to  go  so  very  far,"  groaned  Denzil. 
"  I  had  an  awfully  jolly  time — but,  by  Jove  !  there's 
uncommonly  little  to  show  for  it !  I  haven't  any  debts 
worth  mentioning,  thank  goodness.  Could  we  manage 
on  it,  Margery — just  for  a  time  ?  " 

"  It  seems  to  me  a  very  large  income  indeed,"  said 
Margery,  with  intense  seriousness. 

"  You  blessed  innocent !  "  laughed  Denzil ;  and  his 
gay  humour  came  back  in  a  flash.  "  Why,  then,  we're 
all  right,  Margery  !  But  what  on  earth  my  father  would 
say,  I  can't  imagine  !  " 

"  Don't  you  mean  to  tell  him  that  we  are  going  to 
be  married,  then  ?  "  asked  Margery. 

"  My  darling  girl,  you  don't  know  my  father — though 
I'm  sure  you  and  he  will  get  on  famously  when  you  do 
meet.  If  he  heard  that  I  was  contemplating  matrimony 
on  my  allowance,  without  anything  settled  to  do,  I 
assure  you  that  he  would  cut  off  the  allowance  that 
instant,  and  lucky  for  me  if  he  didn't  cut  me  off  with 
a  shilling,  too !  That  has  always  been  his  system 
with  all  of  us  all  our  lives  if  we  didn't  please  him ; 
he  just  cut  off  supplies  altogether  until  we  repented." 

"  Oh,  but  you  must  not  ran  the  risk  of  making  him 
angry  on  account  of  me  I  "  cried  Margery,  with  anxious 
eyes. 

"  My  dearest  goose,  there  is  no  risk  at  all,"  Denzil 
assured  her  comfortably.  "  Do  you  suppose  that  we 

122 


Amabel  as  a  Person  of  Importance 

can't  be  quietly  married  without  telling  all  the  world  ? 
It  is  not  even  as  if  we  should  have  to  keep  it  a  secret 
for  so  very  long.  In  a  month  or  two  I  shall  cer- 
tainly have  settled  down  with  something  definite 
to  do,  and  then,  of  course,  there  need  be  no  secret  any 
longer." 

"  But  won't  your  father  be  very  angry  then  ? " 
Margery  persisted  anxiously. 

"  I  don't  mind  if  he  is,  when  once  I  am  independent," 
said  Denzil.  "  We  have  never  got  on  well  together — 
I  don't  expect  ever  to  please  him." 

"  Oh,  but,  if  it  is  only  a  question  of  waiting  a  month 
or  two,  do  let  us  wait !  "  pleaded  Margery. 

But  Denzil  was  hurt — a  little,  genuinely  :  a  great 
deal,  in  appearance,  when  he  found  how  that  little 
troubled  her.  He  protested  that  she  did  not  love 
him,  if  she  could  actually  wish  to  wait  when  there  was 
no  reason  for  waiting ;  and  so  worked  on  her  feelings 
that  at  last,  very  reluctantly,  she  gave  in.  She  did 
not  approve ;  she  was  anxious,  uneasy,  anything  but 
satisfied.  The  whole  scheme  was  foreign  to  her  own 
natural  instincts ;  but  she  was  prepared  to  make  very 
great  allowances  for  Denzil,  simply  because  he  was 
Denzil.  Besides,  for  all  her  prudent  fears  and  scruples, 
there  was  an  undeniable  attraction  about  the  romance 
of  the  thing,  coming  like  a  flash  of  lightning  into  the 
midst  of  the  decorously  dull  life  that  was  all  she  had 
ever  known. 

The  twins  came  tearing  up — how  unsuspicious  of  the 
drama  that  had  been  enacted  in  their  absence ! 

"  I've  won  !    I've  won  !  "  screamed  Amabel  shrilly. 
123 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

"  I  nearly  won,"  said  Cedric,  with  tears  in  his  voice. 
"  I  did  put  my  foot  down  once — but  it  was  a  very 
little  once  !  " 

"  Here  you  are,  prize-winner  !  "  cried  Denzil  gaily. 
His  blue  eyes  shone,  and  his  handsome  face  was  flushed 
with  excitement,  as  he  took  out  the  pencil-case,  and 
presented  it  to  Amabel  with  a  tremendous  bow  of 
mock  ceremony.  "  And  here  you  are,  second  prize- 
winner !  "  he  added,  turning  to  Cedric  with  his  pen- 
knife ;  at  sight  of  which  the  youth's  crestfallen  face 
beamed  out  into  rapturous  joy  and  incredulity. 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  "  the  twins  exclaimed  in  ecstatic 
chorus.  And  Denzil  laughed  in  answer,  after  such 
a  fashion  that  Amabel  looked  up  at  him  sharply  with 
her  shrewd  eyes. 

"  You  look  as  if  you  had  won  a  prize  too,"  she 
observed. 

"  So  I  have  !  "  said  Denzil. 


124 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE    LAST    OF    MARGERY    LENNARD 

"  TT   will   not   be   at   all   convenient!"    said     Mrs. 

1     Croome. 

"  I  am  sorry.  But  I  am  afraid  I  must  still  ask 
you  to  spare  me  for  a  little  time  on  Wednesday 
evening,"  said  Margery ;  and  though  she  spoke  quite 
politely,  she  spoke  firmly  too,  and  her  eyes  were  brave, 
and  there  was  almost  a  smile  on  her  face.  Mrs.  Croome 
looked  at  her  uneasily,  and  then  looked  again,  baffled. 
This  was  not  the  silent,  subdued  girl  whom  she  knew 
as  the  twins'  governess ;  nor  the  scared  and  sorrowful 
person  who  ought  to  have  been  lamenting  herself 
grievously  ever  since  her  dismissal.  From  the  change 
in  her  since  that  day  it  might  almost  have  seemed 
— unpardonable  thought ! — that  she  was  glad  to 
go- 

"  Well,  if  you  must — I  suppose  it  is  to  see  about 
another  situation  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Croome,  with  a  sharp 
glance  and  an  unpleasant  little  laugh. 

"  I  have  found  another  situation,  thank  you,"  said 
Margery  serenely.  "  But  I  have  to  arrange  one  or 
two  things  about  it,  and  some  shopping  to  do." 

'  You  have  found  a  situation — already  !  "  said  Mrs. 
125 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

Croome,  with  a  very  hostile  glance  out  of  her  hard 
little  eyes. 

Margery,  looking  at  her  placidly,  said  :  "  Yes." 

Mrs.  Croome  had  nothing  to  say ;  but  she  was 
obviously  very  much  annoyed. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  suppose  you  will  have  to  go  ! — after 
the  children  are  in  bed,  of  course,"  she  said ;  and  turned 
to  imply  that  the  interview  was  at  an  end. 

Margery  stood  her  ground  quite  mildly,  but 
decidedly. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  "  but  that  will  not  give  me 
time  enough.  The  shops  will  be  closed." 

"  Well !  Perhaps  you  will  be  kind  enough  to  tell 
me  what  you  expect !  "  said  Mrs.  Croome  sharply. 

"  I  shall  be  very  much  obliged  if  I  may  go  as  soon 
as  the  children  go  down  to  the  drawing-room  after  tea," 
said  Margery. 

"  And  who  will  put  them  to  bed,  pray  ?  "  cried  Mrs. 
Croome. 

"  I  believe  Sophia  used  sometimes  to  do  it  before 
I  came,"  said  Margery,  who  had  only  recently  found 
out  that  her  predecessor  had  been,  comparatively 
speaking,  a  person  of  leisure.  "If  you  will  let  her 
take  my  place  for  that  one  evening,  I  shall  be  very 
much  obliged." 

"  Really,  you  seem  to  have  made  all  your  own 
arrangements  !  "  snapped  Mrs.  Croome.  But  she  did 
not  see  her  way,  somehow,  to  treating  this  new  Margery 
in  quite  the  fashion  of  a  week  ago.  "  Oh,  well,  I 
suppose  I  must  let  you  go — but  remember  that  it 
is  not  to  occur  again  before  you  leave  !  " 

126 


The  Last  of  Margery  Lennard 

"  What  time  do  you  wish  me  to  come  in  ?  "  asked 
Margery  quietly. 

"  I  don't  care  what  time  you  come  in,"  said  Mrs. 
Croome.  "  Really,  I  think  your  own  right  feeling 
might  settle  that  for  you,  Miss  Lennard  !  " 

"Thank  you,"  said  Margery;  and  shut  the  door 
very  gently  after  her. 

How  slowly  the  time  crept  by  on  its  way  to  that 
Wednesday  evening  !  But  Margery  went  through  her 
usual  tale  of  duties  quite  regularly  and  conscientiously, 
and  no  one  could  have  told  that  she  was  counting  days 
and  hours,  and  finally  even  minutes.  She  knew  that 
Amabel's  astute  eyes  were  upon  her,  and  she  was  at 
pains  to  guard  her  secret  well.  No  tone  could  have 
been  more  matter-of-fact  than  that  in  which  she  told 
the  much- annoyed  twins  that  she  was  going  out  to  do 
some  shopping,  and  would  not  be  in  at  their  bedtime. 
No  feet  could  have  run  more  lightly  down  the  hall 
steps  ten  minutes  later,  and  hastened  to  the  corner  at 
which  Denzil  was  waiting  for  her. 

It  was  a  wonderful  evening  :  an  evening  to  which 
Margery  often  looked  back  in  after  days,  with  a  wistful 
surprise  at  the  amazing  youthfulness  of  the  boy  and 
girl  who  went  shopping  together.  For  the  shopping 
was  no  mere  excuse,  but  a  very  serious  ceremony — 
no  less  than  the  purchase  of  Margery's  wedding  clothes. 
Denzil  insisted,  and  would  take  no  denial,  that  she 
should  buy  her  hat  at  a  certain  shop  in  Bond  Street, 
where  he  remembered  that  his  sister  had  been  in  the 
habit  of  dealing  before  she  went  to  India.  But  having 

127 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

once  passed  the  portals  in  the  gayest  of  spirits,  he  was 
so  instantly  subdued  by  the  awful  presences  in  black 
satin  who  received  them,  and  addressed  Margery  as 
"  Moddam,"  that  he  could  not  be  grateful  enough  to 
her  for  extracting  him  and  herself,  three  minutes  later, 
on  the  plea  that  the  hat  she  had  admired  in  the  window 
was  unbecoming  when  tried  on. 

"  My  dear,  I  could  not  possibly  have  afforded  any- 
thing there  !  "  said  Margery  in  her  grave  way. 

"  What  an  awful  place  !  "  said  Denzil  with  a  gasp 
of  relief.  "  But  you  must  have  a  good  hat,  Margery — 
you'll  only  be  married  once,  I  hope  !  Oh,  yes,  I  know 
that  we  are  going  to  be  frightfully  economical !  I  assure 
you  that  I  haven't  spent  an  unnecessary  sou  since  I 
saw  you  last."  He  immediately  illustrated  this  praise- 
worthy attitude  by  suddenly  buying  her,  at  vast 
expense,  a  bunch  of  lilies-of-the- valley,  which,  as  Mar- 
gery almost  tearfully  protested,  she  would  not  dare 
to  take  back  to  Canning  Place. 

They  bought  the  hat  subsequently  at  a  much  more 
modest  establishment,  and  then  had  a  long  argument 
as  to  the  colour  of  Margery's  wedding-dress.  She  had 
had  visions  of  a  sober  dark  coat  and  skirt,  while  Denzil 
pleaded  strenuously  for  white,  because  all  brides  should 
wear  white,  and  his  sister  had  looked  so  fine  in  hers. 

"  But,  Denzil !  White  in  February  !  "  Margery  pro- 
tested strenuously.  "  It  would  be  absolutely  spoilt 
if  the  day  were  wet !  " 

"  It's  not  going  to  be  wet,"  said  Denzil.  "  A  bride 
must  have  sunshine,  for  luck."  But  having  argued  his 
point  of  view  with  exceeding  obstinacy  for  five  minutes, 

128 


The  Last  of  Margery  Lennard 

he  gave  way  quite  suddenly,  and  they  compromised  on 
blue  :  which,  as  Denzil  grudgingly  admitted,  was  also 
a  lucky  colour. 

"  How  superstitious  you  are  !  "  laughed  Margery. 

"So  is  everyone,  more  or  less,"  Denzil  maintained. 
"  Do  you  realize  what  an  awfully  unlucky  day  we 
have  for  our  wedding — Friday,  the  thirteenth  ?  I 
suppose  Mrs.  Croome  wouldn't  let  you  off  a  day 
earlier  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  she  would  not,"  said  Margery;  whereupon 
Denzil  fell  into  the  depths  of  gloom  for  some  three 
minutes,  and  then  quite  suddenly  became  his  usual 
gay  self  again  without  the  slightest  warning. 

They  dined  together,  in  accordance  with  Denzil' s 
economy,  at  a  quiet  little  restaurant  :  very  early,  in 
order  to  avoid  .anyone  who  might  possibly  know  him  ; 
and  as  they  dined  they  discussed  their  plans.  It  was 
the  most  fortunate  thing  in  the  world  that  Denzil  had 
once  been  told  of  an  ideal  West  Country  farmhouse, 
extraordinarily  cheap,  and  set  in  the  midst  of  glorious 
scenery.  He  had  already  written  about  rooms,  and  he 
now  produced  the  answering  letter,  to  amuse  Margery 
with  the  odd  spelling. 

"  But — I  don't  understand,"  said  Margery,  reading. 
"  Didn't  you  write  yourself  ?  Who  is  Mr.  Vane  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  forgot  to  explain ! "  said  Denzil  easily. 
"  You  see,  the  only  drawback  to  going  there  is  that  it's 
very  near  my  own  part  of  the  world.  I've  never  been 
there  myself,  and  there's  no  reason  why  they  should 
know  me,  but  my  name  is  familiar  enough  down  there, 
and  there's  just  the  chance  that  it  might  get  round  to 

129  9 


The  Real   Mrs.   Holyer 

my  father.  So  I  thought  it  would  be  safest  to  go 
incognito,  like  a  royal  holiday  !  Vane  really  is  one  of 
my  names,  you  know.  You  don't  mind,  do  you, 
dearest  ?  " 

Margery  did  mind ;  for  where  is  the  bride  who  does 
not  look  forward  with  shy  pleasure  to  the  thought  of 
hearing  herself  called  by  her  new  name  ? 

"  But  we  shall  be  married  in  our  own  names  ?  " 
she  said  rather  anxiously. 

"  You  darling  goose,  of  course  we  shall !  Haven't 
I  been  round  to  put  up  the  banns  this  very  day  ?  " 
cried  Denzil,  with  a  shout  of  laughter.  Whereat 
Margery,  blushing  extremely,  forgot  to  mind  any  more. 
After  all,  it  was  a  very  small  matter,  and  for  a  very 
short  time ;  since  she  had  given  in  to  a  secret  wedding, 
it  would  certainly  be  foolish  to  run  any  risk  of  being 
found  out.  Certainly,  too,  the  romance  of  the  whole 
thing  would  gain  by  their  masquerading  for  a  time 
under  another  name.  Besides,  Denzil  had  taken  such 
pains  over  all  his  plans,  and  was  so  excited  and  eager 
over  them,  that  she  could  hardly  have  had  the  heart 
to  object,  whatever  her  own  private  wishes  had  been 

He  plunged  immediately  into  questions  of  high 
finance. 

"It's  lucky  that  this  is  the  beginning  of  the  quarter 
— I'm  generally  a  pauper  by  the  end  of  February  !  " 

"  Oh,  Denzil !  But  how  will  you  manage  when  there 
are  two  of  us  ?  "  said  Margery,  with  alarm  in  her 
prudent  soul. 

"  Oh,  that  will  be  all  right !  I'm  being  economical 
now,  you  see,"  smiled  DenziL  "  Besides,  you  had 

130 


The  Last  of  Margery  Lennard 

better  hold  the  purse-strings,  Margery.  You'll  make 
the  money  go  twice  as  far  as  I  should.  And  that 
reminds  me  that  I've  something  for  you." 

He  produced,  in  the  calmest  way,  a  little  crackling 
roll  of  paper,  which  had  been  crumpled  carelessly  into 
his  waistcoat  pocket. 

"  It's  just  over  a  hundred  pounds,  I  think,"  he  said, 
handing  it  over  casually  to  her.  "  A  little  legacy  that 
was  left  me  when  I  was  a  small  chap  ;  it  was  invested 
for  me  then,  and  I  wasn't  to  have  it  till  I  came  of  age, 
and  then  I  forgot  all  about  it — till  now,  when  I  was 
racking  my  brains  for  a  little  ready  money." 

"  Denzil !  "  cried  Margery  in  horror.  "  Do  you  mean 
to  say  that  you  have  been  going  about  all  day  with  all 
that  money  in  your  pocket  ?  " 

"  No  reason  for  anyone  to  know  about  it,"  said 
Denzil,  with  his  gay  laugh.  "  Anyhow,  I  make  it  over 
to  you  now,  Margery — all  my  worldly  goods,  you 
know !  " 

"  But  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  it !  "  said  Mar- 
gery, looking  at  the  crisp  notes  with  fear  and  alarm. 
Finally  she  was  induced  to  put  them  away  in  the 
inside  pocket  of  her  coat ;  but  they  kept  coming  into 
her  mind  all  the  rest  of  the  evening  at  intervals,  and 
her  hand  was  continually  slipping  in  to  feel  for  their 
safety. 

"  What  time  have  you  to  be  back  ?  "  Denzil  asked 
suddenly,  as  they  left  the  restaurant. 

Margery  laughed  a  little  as  she  quoted  Mrs.  Croome's 
remarks  on  the  subject. 

"  Plenty  of  time  for  a  theatre,  then !  "  said  Denzil 
131  9* 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

gaily ;  and  had  hailed  a  passing  hansom  and  established 
Margery  therein,  before  she  quite  knew  what  was 
happening. 

They  went  in  the  Upper  Circle — a  place  which 
seemed,  in  Denzil's  eyes,  about  as  effective  for  purposes 
of  concealment  as  the  fairy-tale  cloak  of  darkness  ;  and 
from  that  altitude  Margery  laughed  and  cried  over 
"  Quality  Street,"  and  enjoyed  herself  so  much  that 
she  even  forgot  the  burden  of  wealth  in  her  pocket. 
Denzil  enjoyed  it  too.  "  One  really  sees  quite  decently 
from  up  here !  "  he  said,  with  frank  surprise.  But  he 
watched  Margery  more  than  the  stage. 

"  You've  never  been  in  a  theatre  before,  or  down 
in  Devonshire,  or  seen  anything  at  all !  "  he  said,  with 
a  sudden  tenderness  and  earnestness,  between  the 
acts.  "  You  poor  little  girl !  What  a  hard  time  you've 
had  !  And  how  I  shall  enjoy  doing  everything  over 
again  with  you,  Margery  !  "  And  he  clasped  a  little 
closer  the  hand  that,  after  the  time-honoured  manner 
of  lovers,  he  was  holding  under  cover  of  the  programme. 

The  wonderful  evening  slipped  by  all  too  swiftly ; 
and  Margery,  with  a  sigh  of  regret,  found  herself,  with 
her  hand  on  Denzil's  arm,  emerging  with  the  crowd 
into  a  wet  street,  and,  horrified,  heard  a  clock  near 
striking  half-past  ten. 

"  Oh,  Denzil !  I  had  no  idea  it  was  so  late  !  "  she 
exclaimed,  in  alarmed  Cinderella  accents. 

As  she  spoke,  a  man  in  the  crowd,  some  little  distance 
off,  turned  and  looked  at  her. 

"  Plenty  of  time,  darling  !  "  said  Denzil,  laughing  at 
her  face  of  dismay.  And  he  slipped  her  deftly  into  a 

132 


The  Last  of  Margery   Lennard 

waiting  taxi,  and  a  moment  later  they  were  gliding 
very  fast  along  the  wet  and  slippery  streets. 

"  Denzil,  did  you  see  your  cousin  ? "  Margery 
asked. 

"  What,  Horace  ?  "  said  Denzil.  "  Oh,  weren't  you 
mistaken,  Margery  ?  " 

But  Margery  shook  her  head.  There  was  no  mis- 
taking those  quick  light  eyes  ;  they  had  looked  straight 
into  hers  with  an  unsmiling  amusement  that  vaguely 
displeased  her. 

"  Oh,  well,  I  daresay  he  didn't  see  us,"  said  Denzil 
easily.  "  Besides,  what  if  he  did !  Theatre-going 
isn't  a  sin.  It's  only  our  guilty  consciences  that 
remind  us  of  those  banns  that  I  put  up  this  morning — 
and,  as  I've  never  in  my  life  known  Horace  go  to 
church,  he  isn't  likely  to  find  us  out  that  way  !  Con- 
found the  quickness  of  these  taxis !  Here  we  are  at 
the  corner  already  !  " 

He  kissed  Margery  quite  unblushingly  under  the  eye 
of  a  passing  policeman,  and  helped  her  out  with 
immense  care,  as  if  she  were  something  extremely 
fragile,  instead  of  a  tall  young  woman,  brought  up  to 
be  as  independent  as  possible.  Then  he  stood  looking 
after  her  until  she  was  safely  inside  the  Croomes' 
hall-door,  after  a  considerable  wait  outside  first  in 
the  rain,  because  the  servants'  hall  did  not  approve 
of  evenings  out  for  the  governess.  For  prudence'  sake, 
it  was  hardly  likely  that  they  would  have  a  chance  of 
meeting  again  before  their  wedding  day. 

The  days  of  Margery's  last  month  in  Canning  Place 
went  very  slowly  by.  She  was  made  to  feel  with  great 

133 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

distinctness  that  she  was  in  disgrace  ;  and  in  one  way, 
at  least,  this  was  a  relief,  for  she  could  not  have  borne 
any  more  confidences  about  Denzil  from  Flora.  The 
children  lamented  her  going  in  quite  a  flattering  fashion  ; 
but,  childlike,  they  were  much  excited  by  the  prospect 
of  someone  new,  and  Margery  could  not  but  feel  that 
her  place  would  be  very  quickly  filled  and  she  herself 
forgotten.  It  was  wonderful  to  think  that  in  the  future 
she  would  be  with  someone  to  whom  she  was  really 
necessary,  and  not  a  mere  temporary  convenience. 

It  was  strange  to  be  living  in  the  midst  of  a  house- 
hold where  not  one  person  had  an  idea  that  she  was 
within  three  weeks  of  her  wedding  day ;  but  Margery 
was  used  to  loneliness  and  independence.  Another 
woman  than  Mrs.  Croome  might  have  considered 
it  her  duty  to  make  some  small  inquiry  into  the  future 
of  the  homeless  girl  who  was  leaving  her  in  disgrace ; 
but  she,  beyond  showing  a  little  vexed  curiosity  about 
the  "  situation  "  which  was  accepting  Margery  without 
a  reference,  took  no  interest  at  all  in  the  matter.  Her 
only  anxiety,  indeed,  seemed  to  be  to  make  Margery 
understand,  in  a  dozen  petty  ways,  that  her  offence 
was  neither  forgiven  nor  forgotten  ;  and  in  so  doing, 
all  unknown  to  herself,  she  removed  one  very  real 
difficulty  from  the  girl's  path.  For  Margery  had 
thought  with  dread  of  the  twins'  quick  ears  in  church? 
and  had  been  honestly  thankful  when  one  snowstorm 
and  one  very  bad  cold  had  kept  them  in  on  two 
successive  Sundays.  To  be  sure,  they  did  not  by  any 
means  listen  to  the  service  with  flawless  attention ; 
but  there  is  always  an  interest  in  the  hearing  of  banns, 

134 


The  Last  of  Margery  Lennard 

and  the  vicar's  voice  was  clear.  So,  when  the  third 
Sunday  dawned  bright  and  fine,  and  the  children  were 
perfectly  well,  Margery's  heart  failed  her,  and  she 
tried  in  vain  to  think  of  any  reasonable  excuse  for 
taking  them  to  another  church.  She  might  have  done 
so,  indeed,  at  any  other  time  without  a  qualm.  But 
now  a  guilty  conscience  pictured  to  her  an  outbreak 
of  stubbornness  and  curiosity,  communicated  to  others 
of  the  household,  and  leading  to  the  discovery  of  her 
secret. 

It  was  here  that  Mrs.  Croome's  petty  spite  did  her 
victim  good  service.  For  when  Margery  and  her 
charges,  equipped  for  church,  reached  the  hall  that 
Sunday  morning — Margery  in  sore  perplexity  what 
to  do — Mrs.  Croome  sailed  down  also  in  church-going 
bravery,  and  said  coolly  :  "  By  the  way,  Miss  Lennard, 
I  should  prefer  to  take  the  children  with  me  to-day." 

The  twins  clamoured  in  remonstrance.  "  We  want 
to  go  with  Miss  Lennard  !  It's  her  last  Sunday  !  " 

"  I  am  quite  aware  of  that,"  said  Mrs.  Croome ;  and 
her  voice  told  Margery  that  this  was  intended  as  a 
final  punishment. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said  meekly;  and  she  kept  her  eyes 
down,  that  Mrs.  Croome  might  not  see  the  relief  in  them 
— which  answered  excellently,  since  the  good  lady 
conceived  them  to  be  full  of  tears,  and  accordingly  sallied 
forth  well  pleased,  with  a  cross,  protesting  twin  on 
either  side  of  her. 

Margery  slipped  into  the  church  with  her  face  on 
fire,  and  took  her  usual  modest  seat  with  a  feeling  that 
every  eye  must  be  upon  her.  How  long  the  first  part 

135 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

of  the  service  seemed  !  and  yet  how  willingly,  some 
half-hour  later,  would  she  have  prolonged  the  Second 
Lesson  to  double  its  length  !  It  was  over  at  last.  The 
vicar  was  back  in  the  reading-desk  and  opening  his 
book — and  Margery's  head  went  down  and  down. 

"  I  publish  the  Banns  of  Marriage  between  Richard 
Denzil  Vane  Holyer,  bachelor,  of  the  parish  of  St. 
Nicomede,  and  Margarita  Lennard,  spinster,  of  this 
parish " 

Margery's  heart  beat  so  that  she  could  scarcely 
breathe ;  she  was  not  red  now,  but  white,  and  cold 
to  the  finger-tips.  A  mad  fancy  seized  her  that 
someone — possibly  that  alarming  father  of  Denzil' s — 
would  get  up  and  forbid  the  banns.  But  no  one, 
curiously  enough,  seemed  at  all  moved  by  the  great 
announcement ;  and  the  vicar,  peremptorily  remarking 
that  this  was  the  last  time  of  asking,  closed  his  book 
and  gave  out  a  hymn.  And  Margery,  dumb  through 
the  singing,  fell  on  her  knees  afterwards  and  prayed 
very  earnestly — and  quite  oblivious  of  all  petitions  for 
the  King  and  Queen  and  all  the  Royal  Family — that 
she  might  be  a  good  wife  to  Denzil. 

Monday,  Tuesday,  Wednesday  passed,  as  if  they 
had  been  quite  ordinary  days,  instead  of  the  very  last 
of  Margery's  single  life.  On  Thursday  Mrs.  Croome 
said  stiffly  to  her  :  "I  suppose,  Miss  Lennard,  that 
one  day  more  or  less  will  make  no  difference  to  you. 
I  find  that  the  new  governess  whom  I  have  engaged 
cannot  come  till  Saturday.  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  will 
arrange  to  stay  till  then." 

Margery  looked  at  her,  with  a  curious,  still  smile 
136 


The  Last  of  Margery  Lennard 

in  the  depths  of  her  clear  eyes,  that  Mrs.  Croome  found 
most  irritating  and  incomprehensible. 

"  I  am  sorry,"  she  said,  "  but  it  is  quite  impossible  !  " 

"  Surely  you  are  not  going  direct  to  your  new 
situation !  "  snapped  Mrs.  Croome,  very  much  put 
out. 

"  Yes,"  said  Margery ;  and  the  smile  spread,  very 
faintly,  to  her  lips. 

"  Indeed  !  Well,  you  are  remarkably  lucky  !  "  said 
Mrs.  Croome  venomously.  "  At  any  rate,  I  imagine 
it  will  be  all  the  same  to  you  if  you  do  not  go  till  the 
afternoon ;  in  fact,  if  you  could  stay  till  the  children's 
teatime,  it  would  suit  me  best." 

Margery  almost  laughed.  If  Mrs.  Croome  had  known 
the  impossibility  of  what  she  asked  ! 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  keep  to  the  plans  I  have  already 
made,"  she  said.  "  I — have  rather  a  long  distance 
to  go." 

"  Indeed  !  "  said  Mrs.  Croome  again,  and  this  time 
with  barely  concealed  rage.  "  Oh,  well,  if  you  do  not 
choose  to  be  obliging,  of  course  there  is  nothing  more 
to  be  said  !  " 

It  was  additionally  annoying  for  her  that  Margery 
was  now  so  nearly  out  of  her  clutches  that  she  had 
practically  no  means  of  wreaking  vengeance  on  her. 
In  fact,  the  only  thing  left  in  her  power  was  to  arrange 
that  there  should  be  no  ceremony  of  farewell  at  all. 
And  to  this  end,  at  great  inconvenience  to  herself,  she 
took  Flora  and  Amabel  out  shopping  at  an  abnormally 
early  hour,  first  seeing  off  the  reluctant  Cedric  for  a 
walk  with  the  equally  reluctant  Sophia. 

137 


The   Real   Mrs.   Holyer 

She  could  not,  had  she  but  known  it,  have  served 
Margery's  turn  better.  There  was  no  one  to  see  her 
come  down  in  her  new  blue  gown,  wearing  the  hat  that 
she  and  Denzil  had  chosen  together ;  no  one  to  comment 
on  her  white  face  and  bright  eyes  and  shaking  hands. 
As  for  directing  the  cabman  to  drive  to  Paddington, 
that  could  have  conveyed  nothing  to  anyone. 

At  Paddington  Denzil  met  her  :  very  handsome,  very 
serious,  very  silent.  It  was  a  matter  of  two  minutes 
to  bestow  Margery's  modest  luggage  in  the  cloak-room, 
with  directions  that  it  would  be  wanted  again  in  an 
hour.  They  hardly  said  a  word  to  each  other,  but 
they  held  hands  tightly,  like  two  frightened  children, 
as  they  drove  from  the  station  back  to  the  church. 
They  were  a  minute  or  two  late,  and  the  vicar  was 
in  a  hurry,  and  too  preoccupied  to  take  any  particular 
notice  of  the  tall  young  couple  who  had  come  quite 
alone  to  be  made  man  and  wife.  A  very  old  verger 
gave  the  bride  away,  and  acted  as  witness;  and  Mar- 
gery, with  a  dazed  feeling,  found  herself,  after  an 
extraordinarily  brief  interval,  in  the  vestry,  signing  her 
maiden  name  for  the  last  time  with  a  very  trembling 
hand.  She  turned  to  go. 

"  Your  certificate — Mrs.  Holyer  !  "  said  the  hurried 
vicar,  with  a  hurried  little  smile,  writing  hastily. 
And  Margery,  scarlet,  took  the  little  paper  and  carried 
it  out  in  her  hand ;  and  once  outside  the  church,  found 
herself  saying  absurdly  to  her  husband,  as  the  first 
remark  of  her  married  life  :  "  Will  you  take  it,  please, 
Denzil  ?  I  haven't  any  pocket !  " 

"  I-et  me  have  it  at  once  !     It  will  never  do  to  lose 
138 


The  Last  of  Margery  Lennard 

your  marriage  lines,  you  know,"  cried  Denzil,  with  a  gay, 
excited  laugh  ;  and  he  put  it  away  with  exaggerated 
care  in  his  breast  pocket.  Quite  suddenly  he  had 
regained  all  his  usual  lightheartedness ;  but  with  it 
there  was  a  new  tenderness  and  consideration,  which 
Margery  felt  very  gratefully. 

Once  in  the  train — a  reserved  first-class  carriage, 
to  Margery's  extreme  horror  :  "  But  we  shall  only  be 
married  once  !  "  said  Denzil — he  pointed  out  to  her, 
with  vast  amusement,  the  labels  on  his  dressing-case 
and  her  handbag,  whereon  he  had  written  "  Vane  "  in 
the  largest  of  letters. 

"  It  isn't  everyone  who  can  boast  of  having  had 
three  surnames  in  one  day  !  "  he  cried,  laughing  ;  and 
then,  with  one  of  his  quick  changes,  took  her  hand  and 
kissed  her  very  gently,  and  said  :  "  My  darling  wife  !  " 


CHAPTER  IX 
ARCADIA 

TT^ERHAPS  honeymoons,  like  nations,  are  most 
A  blessed  when  they  have  no  history.  Cer- 
tainly Denzil's  and  Margery's  could  not  have  been 
more  eventless  or  happier.  The  wet  month  of  February 
vouchsafed  for  them  to  dry  her  tears,  and  gave  them 
a  fortnight  of  mild  and  perfect  weather,  during  which 
they  explored  the  country  for  miles  round  with  vast 
contentment.  Margery  had  never  in  her  life  before 
met  with  any  lovely  scenery.  Her  enjoyment  was  as 
simple  and  rapturous  as  a  child's ;  and  Denzil,  delighted 
with  her  delight,  was  quite  as  happy.  The  farm  was 
a  queer  old  rambling  house,  too  small,  luckily  for 
them,  to  take  in  more  than  one  set  of  lodgers  at  a 
time  ;  and  the  landlady,  Mrs.  Strong,  proved  to  be 
an  excellent  and  sympathetic  person,  absolutely  square 
of  figure,  and  surely  one  of  the  least  inventive  cooks 
in  the  world.  Denzil,  laughing,  ate  an  unvarying 
succession  of  mutton  chops  with  perfect  satisfaction 
— they  proved  immediately  that  to  go  farther  was  to 
fare  worse — and  made  up  for  doubtful  puddings  by 
unlimited  bread  and  jam  and  clotted  cream.  He  was 
the  most  charming  companion  possible  ;  always  light 

140 


Arcadia 

of  heart  and  sunny  of  temper  and  easily  pleased.  Only 
once,  in  fact,  did  Margery  ever  see  him  put  out,  and 
then  over  the  most  foolish,  trivial  thing — only  because 
she  spoke  of  having  been  in  church  when  their  banns 
were  read. 

"  But  you  ought  not  to  have  gone — it  is  most  horribly 
unlucky  !  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  Is  it  ?  I  didn't  know,"  said  Margery,  not  much 
impressed. 

"  Horribly  unlucky  !  "  he  repeated.  "  If  only  you 
had  stayed  away  !  At  any  rate,  I'm  glad  that  I  didn't 
know  of  it  before  we  were  safely  married  !  " 

The  fine  February  gave  place  to  a  stormy,  roaring 
March,  and  their  long  walks  were  out  of  the  question. 
Heavy  sleet  beat  against  the  windows  of  the  little  farm, 
and  folded  the  moors  in  swathes  of  mist  and  water  ; 
fierce  winds  raged  and  tore  round  corners,  and  shrieked 
in  at  doors,  and  howled  in  chimneys.  Denzil  taught 
Margery  to  play  piquet,  and  was  as  happy  and  con- 
tented as  ever — even  when,  after  a  very  short  time,  she 
learned  to  play  better  than  he  did.  He  looked  absurdly 
tall  in  the  cramped  little  rooms,  but  never  seemed  to 
feel  their  smallness.  He  read  extracts  from  Mrs. 
Strong's  library — which  was  limited,  and  consisted 
chiefly  of  old  bound  magazines  of  a  sentimental  order 
— aloud  to  Margery,  and  shouted  with  laughter  over 
them.  There  was  a  crazy  old  piano  in  the  little 
sitting-room,  with  half  a  dozen  notes  dumb  ;  and  on 
this  he  strummed  happily  by  the  hour  together,  vamp- 
ing very  primitive  accompaniments  to  "  Ten  Thousand 
Miles  Away  "  and  similar  songs,  and  singing  them  with 

141 


The  Real   Mrs.   Holyer 

a  will  and  a  very  pleasant  untrained  voice.  Putting 
what  he  always  called  "  brains  "  out  of  the  question, 
it  seemed  as  if  the  fairies  at  his  cradle  had  endowed 
him  with  every  good  gift  in  the  world,  except  the  gift 
of  ambition. 

For,  as  the  days  slipped  easily  and  pleasantly  by, 
with  increasing  swiftness,  he  said  never  a  word  of  any 
occupation.  On  fine  days,  they  wandered  as  far 
afield  as  possible,  bringing  back  with  them  amazing 
appetites  for  Mrs.  Strong's  monotonous  fare.  On  wet 
days  they  amused  themselves  as  aforesaid,  with 
entire  success.  On  doubtful  days,  when  it  was  not 
safe  to  venture  too  far  away,  they  strolled  about  the 
little  village,  and  Denzil  made  friends  with  every  child 
and  cat  and  dog  that  came  in  his  way.  They  went  to 
the  little  old  village  church  on  Sundays,  and  Denzil 
said  that  the  parson  was  an  uncommonly  ugly  chap, 
but  looked  quite  a  decent  sort.  When  the  said  parson 
called  on  them,  after  they  had  been  the  best  part  of 
a  month  in  the  place,  Denzil  greeted  and  entertained 
him  most  affably,  smoked  and  chatted  with  him,  and 
walked  back  with  him  as  far  as  the  Vicarage  ;  and 
then,  coming  back,  said  to  Margery  :  "  Quite  a  nice 
fellow — and  he's  got  an  uncommonly  nice  cat  !  But 
I  hope  he  won't  come  again.  We  don't  want  anyone 
but  ourselves  !  " 

It  was  the  jolliest  little  village,  Denzil  declared,  in 
the  world ;  and  with  something  very  like  seriousness 
he  debated  the  advisability  of  their  buying  a  cottage 
there,  and  settling  down  for  the  rest  of  their  lives. 
"  I  don't  believe  we  could  be  happier  anywhere  else  !  " 

142 


Arcadia 

he  cried,  and  fell  to  planning,  with  immense  detail, 
how  they  would  have  a  big  fuchsia  on  each  side  of 
the  gate  and  jasmine  climbing  all  over  the  front,  exactly 
like  the  charming  cottage  where  the  schoolmistress 
lived.  "  Wouldn't  you  like  that,  Margery  ? "  he 
added. 

Margery  hesitated.  It  had  been  on  her  conscience 
for  many  days  past  that  this  pleasant,  lazy  existence 
ought  not  to  go  on  much  longer.  And  yet  it  was 
so  pleasant,  and  Denzil  was  so  entirely  happy,  that 
she  had  not  had  the  heart  to  start  the  subject.  Now, 
however,  with  this  obvious  opening,  she  shirked  her 
duty  no  longer. 

"  It  is  the  dearest  little  place,"  she  said.  "  But  you 
would  not  find  anything  to  do  here,  Denzil,  would 
you  ?  " 

"  Do  you  see  too  much  of  me  ?  "  Denzil  inquired 
pathetically.  "  Do  you  want  me  to  be  away  from  you 
for  hours  every  day  ?  Aren't  you  happy,  Margery  ?  " 

'  You  know  I  am  happy,"  said  Margery,  with  tears 
in  her  eyes ;  and  could  bring  herself  to  say  no  more. 
For,  indeed,  she  was  entirely  happy.  She  had  been 
brought  up  to  be  content  with  so  little,  and  now  she 
had  so  much.  It  seemed  the  basest  ingratitude  to 
let  Denzil  imagine  that  she  was  not  absolutely  satisfied 
with  him,  and  with  all  that  he  had  done  for  her. 

The  days  slipped  on  again,  until  March  was  nearly 
over ;  and  it  was  none  of  Margery's  doing  when  at 
last  their  life  in  Arcady  came  to  an  end. 

Denzil  had  his  letters  forwarded  from  his  club  to 
the  post-office  in  the  nearest  town,  some  three  miles 

143 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

away,  and  would  go  to  fetch  them  whenever  the  fancy 
took  him.  One  very  wet  afternoon,  when  they  had 
been  kept  in  by  ceaseless  rain  for  a  couple  of  days 
past,  he  suddenly  announced  his  intention  of  going 
over. 

"  It's  more  than  a  week  since  I  went  last,"  he 
observed  casually,  "  and  one  never  knows  that  there 
might  not  be  something  important !  But  you'd  better 
not  come,  Margery.  It's  raining  cats  and  dogs,  and 
not  fit  for  you  to  be  out." 

They  had  hardly  been  separated  for  so  long  since 
they  were  married,  and  Margery  felt  quite  forlorn  when 
he  was  gone,  and  she  found  herself  left  to  her  own 
devices.  There  was,  indeed,  very  little  for  her  to  do 
alone.  There  had  been  so  much  bad  weather  latterly 
that  she  had  finished  all  the  sewing  she  had  with  her, 
and  exhausted  Mrs.  Strong's  resources  as  far  as  books 
went.  She  could  write  no  letters,  since  none  of  her 
friends  knew  of  her  marriage  ;  and  she  was  waiting 
to  send  them  the  news  until  she  could  do  so  in  her 
own  new  name.  So  the  time  dragged  ;  and  she  was 
watching  for  Denzil  at  the  window  long  before  there 
was  any  possibility  of  his  return. 

The  road  curved  up  and  up  from  the  gate  of  the  farm 
towards  the  Moor.  She  could  see  anyone  who  came 
half  a  mile  off ;  but  the  rain  was  still  coming  down 
in  such  blinding  torrents  that  it  was  not  easy  to  make 
out  with  any  distinctness  what  manner  of  person  it 
was  who  was  coming.  So,  though  she  was  watching 
Denzil' s  advance  for  ten  minutes  or  more,  she  was 
not  certain  it  was  he  until  he  was  quite  close.  Indeed, 

144 


Arcadia 

she  had  almost  decided  that  it  was  someone  else, 
because  the  step  and  the  carriage  were  hardly  like 
Denzil's. 

"  How  tired  he  must  be,  to  be  walking  like  that  1 " 
she  thought  anxiously.  "  I  expect  he  is  wet  through  !  " 
And  she  went  out  hastily  to  the  door  to  meet 
him. 

"  Oh,  Denzil,  are  you  quite  drenched  ?  "  she  cried, 
with  a  hand  on  his  arm.  "  Oh — is  anything  the 
matter  ?  " 

Denzil  took  off  his  wet  mackintosh  and  dripping 
cap  in  silence,  and  hung  them  up ;  then  he  followed  her 
into  the  little  sitting-room,  and  sat  down  heavily  in 
the  first  chair  he  came  to. 

"  There's  a  letter  from  my  father,"  he  said.  "  Here 
— you  had  better  read  it." 

Margery  took  it,  trembling.  But  the  writing  was 
very  crabbed,  and  perhaps  her  eyes  were  not  too  clear. 
She  could  read  the  first  two  or  three  lines  with  a  little 
difficulty,  but  as  it  went  on  it  grew  increasingly 
illegible,  until  it  ended  in  a  mere  scrawl  of  a 
signature. 

"  I  can't  make  it  out,"  she  said  in  a  shaking  voice. 
"  Is  there  something  about — about  Jamaica  ?  " 

"  He  wants  me  to  go  there,"  said  Denzil. 

"  To  Jamaica  1    Oh,  Denzil !    What  for  ?  " 

"  There's  some  property  that  belonged  to  my  mother 
— a  plantation.  He's  been  bothered  about  it  for  a 
long  while — thinks  it  isn't  being  properly  managed. 
Now  he  wants  me  to  go  out  and  see  about  it." 

"  For  good  ?  " 

145  10 


The   Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  No  1  I  wish  it  were — for  then  I  could  take  you, 
Margery." 

There  was  a  silence.  Then  :  "  How  long  shall  you 
be  away  ?  "  asked  Margery  very  quietly. 

"  I  don't  know — I  don't  even  know  how  long  it 
takes  to  get  there  !  "  said  Denzil  in  a  voice  that  was 
sharp  with  unhappiness.  "  See  what  a  duffer  of  a 
husband  you've  got,  Margery  !  You  see,  he  makes  it 
a  sort  of  test — says  that  if  I  can  manage  this  well, 
he'll  have  some  confidence  in  me  for  the  future  and 
will  see  a  little  what  I'm  fit  for.  Perhaps  I  should  be 
gone  three  months." 

Margery  was  sitting  the  other  side  of  the  little  table, 
and  she  knew  that  Denzil  could  not  see  how  she  was 
twisting  and  wringing  her  hands.  With  that  safety- 
valve  she  could  keep  her  voice  steady  and  her  face 
quiet. 

"  Oh,  that  is  not  so  very  long,  Denzil !  "  she  said. 

"  Not  so  very  long ! "  Denzil  repeated  blankly. 
"  Margery  !  It  seems  to  me  half  a  lifetime — to  be  away 
from  you  1 " 

"  But  surely  it  is  worth  it — if  your  father  makes 
such  a  point  of  it,  and  that  means  so  much  to  you  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  care  ?  "  said  Denzil,  staring  at  her  with 
pathetic  eyes  and  deep  reproach  in  his  voice. 

"  Care  ?  Oh,  Denzil !  "  said  poor  Margery ;  and 
suddenly  forgot  to  be  brave  and  burst  out  sobbing. 

Denz.l  was  by  her  side  in  a  moment  kneeling  on 
the  floor,  with  his  arms  round  her. 

"  Don't,  darling,  don't !  I'm  sorry — I  didn't  mean 
it  I "  he  cried  incoherently.  "  Oh,  don't  cry  like 

146 


Arcadia 

that,  Margery  !  I  can't  bear  it !  We  can't  go  on  with 
this.  I'll  write  back  at  once  and  tell  my  father  that 
we  are  married,  and  if  he  is  going  to  be  angry,  he  must 
be." 

But  Margery  pulled  herself  quickly  together  at  that. 
She  had  disliked  the  idea  of  secrecy  heartily  enough 
at  first ;  but,  having  once  given  in  to  it,  she  had  no 
intention  of  being  faint-hearted  with  regard  to  any 
of  the  disagreeables  involved 

"  No,  Denzil,  you  must  not  do  that,"  she  said  firmly. 
"  It  would  be  too  foolish,  when  we  have  gone  as  far 
as  this  without  being  found  out.  No — you  must 
go,  and  do  the  very  best  you  can,  and  wait  to  tell  your 
father  until  you  come  back  ;  and  then  I  hope  he  will 
be  so  pleased  with  what  you  have  done  that  he  will 
forgive  you  for  marrying  me.' 

"  I  can't  and  won't  go  away  from  you  !  "  said 
Denzil,  with  the  obstinacy  that  is  born  of  irresolution. 

"  You  must,  dear,"  said  Margery,  very  gently. 

The  discussion  that  followed  was  a  very  trying  and 
miserable  affair.  It  was  so  difficult  to  convince  Denzil, 
or  keep  him  to  one  point  of  view  for  five  consecutive 
minutes.  When  Margery,  by  dint  of  untiring  persua- 
siveness, had  made  him  see  and  own  that  the  only 
possible  wise  course  was  for  him  to  go,  he  broke  her 
heart  by  turning  suddenly  upon  her  and  asking  if  she 
really  wanted  to  be  rid  of  him.  "  But  I  know  you 
don't,  dear  !  "  he  would  add,  brought  to  quick  penitence 
by  the  sight  of  her  distress  ;  and  then  would  vow 
that  nothing  in  the  world  should  take  him  from  her — 
his  future,  and  the  question  of  finance,  and  every' 

147  10* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

thing  else  might  go  !  But  when  Margery,  at  that, 
tearfully  and  sorrowfully  asked  him  what  he  meant 
to  do  instead,  he  only  looked  at  her  with  mournful 
eyes  and  had  nothing  to  suggest.  And  so  at  last,  with 
infinite  patience  and  endless  repetition,  Margery 
brought  him  to  own  that  she  was  right — or,  rather, 
not  to  attempt  any  further  assertion  that  she  was 
wrong.  Even  then  her  hard-won  victory  was  almost 
lost  because  her  heart  failed  her  as  she  looked  at 
him,  so  big  and  handsome,  so  very  dear  to  her,  so 
exceedingly  unhappy.  It  took  no  small  amount  of 
courage  in  Margery  then  to  prevent  herself  from  crying 
out  that  she  could  not  bear  to  let  him  go,  and  that 
nothing  mattered  if  they  could  only  keep  together. 

"  But — if  I  do  go — what  is  to  become  of  you  ?  " 
he  asked  suddenly. 

"  Why,  I  can  stay  here,  of  course,  while  you  are 
away,"  said  Margery,  with  a  bravery  that  she  was 
very  far  from  feeling.  All  through  their  discussion 
she  had  said  "  When  you  go,"  where  he  had  said  "  // 
I  go." 

But  Denzil  was  up  in  arms  at  once  against  this 
proposition,  declaring  that  it  was  impossible.  The 
farm  was  too  lonely,  the  village  too  dull.  She  certainly 
could  not  stay  there  for  three  months  with  no  com- 
panionship but  that  of  the  excellent  Mrs.  Strong. 

Margery  humoured  him  as  she  would  have  humoured 
a  child.  Indeed,  she  herself  was  none  too  much  in 
love  with  the  prospect.  The  place,  at  every  turn, 
would  be  full  of  memories  of  their  happy  time  together^ 
and  that  would  add  painfully  to  her  loneliness. 

148 


Arcadia 

"  I  daresay  I  could  get  a  temporary  post  of  some 
sort  for  just  the  time  you  are  away,"  she  said — rather 
half-heartedly,  for  it  would  be  hard  to  go  back  to  the 
house  of  bondage  after  six  blissful  weeks  of  liberty. 

But  then  Denzil  was  indeed  indignant.  The  idea 
of  his  wife — his  wife — going  out  as  a  governess  !  He 
stormed  at  the  suggestion  so  angrily  that  Margery 
was  obliged  to  laugh  in  the  midst  of  her  sadness. 

'  You  shall  never  do  another  stroke  of  work  or  earn 
another  penny  as  long  as  you  live ! "  he  declared 
fiercely. 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  "  asked  Margery. 

"  I  don't  know ! "  Denzil  knitted  his  brows  and 
walked  about  the  tiny  room — two  strides  one  way  and 
a  stride  and  a  half  the  other.  Then,  turning  suddenly 
upon  her,  he  began  to  wheedle.  "  You  see,  there  is 
no  way  out  of  it,  darling.  I  must  give  up  going,  and 
stay  at  home  to  take  care  of  you  !  " 

"  Oh,  Denzil,  -please  don't  begin  all  over  again, 
when  we  have  just  made  up  our  minds !  "  cried 
Margery  in  alarm  and  dismay.  She  could  not  bear 
a  repetition  of  the  last  painful  hour  ;  she  could  not  even 
be  certain  that  her  own  resolution  would  hold  out 
if  it  were  subjected  to  another  trial. 

"  Well,  I  can't  leave  you  here  alone — or  let  you  go 
out  as  a  governess  !  "  Denzil  declared  obstinately. 

Margery  went  and  stood  by  the  window,  looking 
out  into  the  rain  and  thinking  hard.  She  passed  slowly 
in  review  the  friends  she  had  made  at  the  orphanage  ; 
but  most  of  them  were,  as  she  had  been,  earning  their 
own  living — and  it  has  to  be  a  very  intimate  friend 

149 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

on  whom  one  can  quarter  oneself  for  three  months 
at  a  time. 

"  Before  I  went  to  Mrs.  Croome,"  she  said  slowly 
at  last,  "  I  had  the  chance  of  going  to  my  cousin,  Mrs. 
Jannaway,  to  teach  her  little  girl.  Would  you  mind 
that  ?  " 

"  What  sort  of  a  cousin  is  she  ? "  asked  Denzil 
grudgingly. 

"It  is  really  her  husband  who  is  my  cousin — the 
only  relation  I  have,"  Margery  explained.  "  I  was 
half  engaged  to  Mrs.  Croome  when  she  wrote  to  ask 
me,  or  most  likely  I  should  have  gone  to  her." 

"  I'm  glad  you  didn't — or  how  should  we  ever  have 
met  ?  "  said  Denzil,  flying  from  the  distasteful  subject 
at  a  tangent.  But  Margery,  not  to  be  diverted,  went 
on  earnestly  : 

"  I  don't  know  her  at  all.  But  I  remember  her 
husband  a  little  at  my  father's  funeral,  and  he  was 
very  kind.  They  live  quite  in  the  country.  I  thought 
perhaps  you  would  not  mind  my  teaching  little  Phyllis, 
as  she  is  a  relation." 

Denzil  turned  the  matter  over  in  his  mind  with 
obvious  reluctance.  He  did  not  want  to  agree  to  any- 
thing; but  there  was  no  very  outstanding  objection 
to  this  plan. 

"  I  daresay,  of  course,  that  they  found  someone 
else  long  ago  to  teach  her,  and  would  not  want  me 
now,"  said  Margery. 

Denzil  brightened  immediately.  "  Well,  let's  leave 
it  at  that !  "  he  cried.  "  You  write  to  her  and  see 
if  she  wants  you  still — it's  quite  likely,  as  you  say, 

150 


Arcadia 

that  she  won't.  And  in  that  case  I  can't  possibly 
go  ;  so  that  will  settle  the  question  !  Oh,  you  aren't 
going  to  write  at  once,  surely  f  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Margery  briefly,  already  beginning  to 
write  ;  but  she  had  hardly  put  down  the  address  and 
date  before  she  stopped  as  quickly. 

"  Denzil — how  am  I  to  write  to  her  ?  In  what  name, 
I  mean  ?  " 

Denzil  whistled  softly.  "  I  never  thought  of  that !  " 
he  said. 

"  I  don't  like  to  sign  myself  '  Vane,'  "  said  Margery, 
looking  up  at  him  with  her  candid  eyes.  "  She  would 
think  it  so  extraordinary  afterwards  when  I  had  to 
tell  her  that  it  was  not  my  real  married  name.  And 
yet  it  would  hardly  be  safe  to  tell  her,  I  suppose — even 
as  a  secret " 

"  Oh,  that  would  never  do  !  "  said  Denzil  hastily. 
"  Once  let  anyone  get  wind  of  it,  and  I'm  morally 
convinced  that  it  will  get  round  to  my  father  !  Why 
should  you  tell  her  that  you  are  married  at  all  ?  " 

"  Denzil !  " 

"  Well,  why  should  you  ?  "  Denzil  pursued  earnestly. 
"  It's  for  such  a  little  time — and  it's  impossible  for 
her  to  find  out  in  any  way  !  I  really  do  think  it  would 
be  the  best  plan,  Margery ;  it  would  save  no  end  of 
bother.  Then,  when  I  come  back,  I'll  come  and  claim 
you,  and  it  will  be  a  tremendous  joke  !  " 

"  I — shouldn't  like  it,"  said  Margery  unhappily. 
"  It  seems  so  deceitful " 

"  Well,  we've  been  pretty  deceitful  all  through,  if 
it  comes  to  that,"  said  Denzil  easily. 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  Not  like  this  1 "  said  Margery  quickly.  "  We've 
kept  the  secret  about  our  being  married,  but  we  haven't 
told  any  lies  about  it  !  As  for  calling  ourselves 
Vane  here,  it  doesn't  make  the  smallest  difference 
to  Mrs.  Strong  what  our  name  is." 

"  Well,  what  else  can  you  suggest  ?  "  said  Denzil. 

Margery  had  no  other  suggestion  to  make  ;  but  she 
had  thought  of  another  objection.  "  I  should  have 
to  take  off  my  wedding-ring,"  she  said. 

"  And  that's  beastly  unlucky ! "  groaned  Denzil, 
apparently  much  more  moved  by  this  argument  than 
by  the  last.  "  Oh,  Margery,  it  all  just  comes  back  to 
the  same  thing,  whichever  way  we  look  at  it — I  can't 
leave  you  !  We'll  let  Jamaica  go  to  pot,  and  I'll  find 
a  nice,  respectable  crossing  to  sweep  !  " 

"  No,"  said  Margery,  recalled  to  resolution  by  that. 
"  No  !  If  there's  no  help  for  it,  I  suppose  we  must 
keep  our  secret  so.  At  any  rate,  I  can  sign  my  letter 
to  her  simply  '  Margery '  ;  and  then,  if  she  doesn't 
want  me,  there  is  no  harm  done  any  way." 

"  Let's  trust  she  won't !  "  said  Denzil.  "  By  the 
way,  you  will  have  to  prepare  Mrs.  Strong's  mind  for 
a  letter  addressed  to  Miss  Lennard." 

So  Margery  wrote  briefly,  and  Denzil  went  out  in  the 
rain  again  to  the  post  ;  and  then  they  settled  down  to 
wait  for  an  answer.  And  sometimes  Denzil  would 
be  certain  that  it  would  be  a  negative  answer  and 
that  he  would  not  go  to  Jamaica  at  all ;  and  then  he 
would  be  jubilant.  And  sometimes  he  would  expect 
an  affirmative  answer,  and  then  he  was  in  the  depths 
of  despair.  And  sometimes,  passing  lightly  over  all 


Arcadia 

intervening  difficulties,  he  would  draw  a  fantastic 
picture  of  his  return  from  Jamaica,  successful  and 
triumphant,  armed  with  an  enthusiastic  letter  of 
approval  from  his  father  to  Margery  ;  and  of  his  arrival 
at  the  Jannaways'  to  claim  his  wife,  with  all  possible 
dramatic  detail.  He  was  so  ridiculous  over  this 
imaginary  scene,  and  brought  himself  so  quickly  to 
believe  in  its  probability,  that  he  made  Margery  laugh 
again  and  again,  though  there  was  little  merriment  in 
her  anxious  heart. 

"  And  it's  keeping  your  father  waiting  all  this  time 
for  an  answer  !  "  she  said. 

"  It's  lucky  I  fetched  the  letter  when  I  did  ;  it  had 
only  been  there  two  days,"  said  Denzil  easily.  "  And 
he's  given  me  a  fortnight's  law,  as  he  calls  it :  says 
he  doesn't  know  where  I  am — by  Jove  !  if  he  did  ! — 
or  what  my  engagements  are.  In  any  case,  fortu- 
nately he  doesn't  expect  to  see  me.  He's  at  Mentone 
with  my  brother,  and  seems  to  be  afraid  to  leave  him. 
It  looks  as  if  the  poor  beggar  is  really  bad  this  time." 
His  careless  face  grew  suddenly  grave  ;  he  sat  looking 
out  of  the  window,  and  whistling  a  sad  little  tune 
under  his  breath. 

A  day  or  two  passed — the  day  when  it  would  first 
have  been  possible  to  receive  an  answer  from  Mrs. 
Jannaway  ;  the  day  when  the  answer  surely  ought  to 
have  come ;  the  day  when  it  actually  did  come.  Denzil 
and  Margery,  coming  in  at  dusk  from  a  long  ramble 
over  the  moor,  found  a  dreadful  white  envelope  awaiting 
them  on  the  little  round  table  in  their  sitting-room. 
Margery  was  almost  equally  white  as  she  took  it  up. 

153 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

Denzil  went  straight  to  the  window,  and  stood  there 
with  his  back  to  her. 

"  Well  ?  "  he  said  breathlessly,  a  moment  after  she 
had  torn  open  the  envelope  with  shaking  hands. 

"  She — she  wants  me  to  go,"  said  Margery  in  a  dull 
voice;  and  never  knew,  till  that  instant,  how  earnestly 
she  had  been  hoping  that  the  reply  would  be  in  the 
negative. 

"  Read  it  to  me,"  said  Denzil,  sitting  down,  and 
shading  his  face  with  his  hand  from  the  dim  light  that 
came  in  at  the  little  window. 

"  It's — a  very  kind  letter,"  said  Margery ;  and  read 
it  aloud  in  a  pitiful  voice  that  shook. 

"A  bit  gushing,"  was  Denzil's  brief  comment, 
ending  suddenly,  as  if  he  had  more  to  say  but  did  not 
find  it  easy  to  say  it. 

"  Some  people  are  like  that,"  said  Margery;  and  she 
read  the  letter  through  for  the  third  time  to  herself, 
lingering,  with  a  little  wonder,  on  "  Dearest  Margery  " 
at  the  beginning,  and  "  Your  loving  cousin,  Dora 
Jannaway,"  at  the  end. 

"  It's  a  very  kind  letter !  "  she  said  again,  with  a 
forlorn  bravery ;  and  then,  looking  across  at  Denzil, 
saw  that  his  head  was  down  on  the  little  round  table 
and  his  broad  shoulders  shaking.  And  at  that  dreadful 
sight  all  her  courage  melted. 

"  Oh,  Denzil !  oh,  Denzil !  "  she  said,  with  a  piteous 
little  cry. 

Denzil  sprang  up,  and  caught  her  in  a  rough,  tight 
clasp  that  hurt,  and  yet  was  consoling.  "  It's  no 
use — I  can't  go  away  and  leave  you,  Margery !  "  he 

154 


Arcadia 

said  thickly  ;    and,  boy-like,  tried  to  hide  even  from  her 
that  his  face  was  wet. 

"  Oh,  Denzil,  it's  dreadful !  But  you  must  go," 
sobbed  Margery,  clinging  to  him  ;  and  they  cried  to- 
gether like  a  couple  of  children.  After  all,  they  had 
only  forty  years  between  them. 


155 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   JANNAWAYS 

G  pardon,  miss  !     For  Mr.  Jannaway's  ?  " 
"  Yes,"  said  Margery. 

"  This  way,  please,  miss,  then.  The  carriage  is  just 
outside." 

Margery  followed  wearily  out  of  the  small,  ill-lit 
country  station,  and  climbed  into  a  smart  high  dog- 
cart, and  sat  waiting,  quite  passive,  for  the  arrival 
of  her  luggage.  She  had  parted  hours  ago  from  Denzil 
— a  hurried,  miserable  parting,  with  Liverpool  Street 
roaring  round  them — and  since  then  the  world  had  been 
more  or  less  of  a  blank  to  her.  She  had  seen  nothing 
of  the  flat  East  Country  landscape  upon  which  her 
eyes  were  fixed ;  she  had  eaten  nothing,  and  spoken 
no  word  to  anyone.  It  seemed  as  if  years  had  passed 
since  they  had  taken  their  farewell  of  Mrs.  Strong,  in 
the  very  early  morning,  and  started  upon  their  long 
journeys :  longer  for  Denzil  than  for  Margery,  since  he 
had  been  summoned  in  haste  to  Mentone  by  news  of 
the  very  serious  illness  of  his  brother.  So  Margery 
was  robbed  of  the  last  few  dear  days  upon  which  she 
had  hungrily  counted,  and,  now  that  the  dreadful 
parting  was  fairly  over,  could  almost  find  it  in  her 

156 


The  Jannaways 

heart  to  be  glad,  for  the  strain  of  the  past  week  had 
been  very  hard  to  bear.  If  every  man  must  eat  his 
peck  of  dirt  before  he  dies,  so  surely  must  every  woman 
drink  her  cup  of  tears ;  and  Margery  felt  as  if  she  had 
drunk  most  of  hers  at  a  draught — which  was,  of  course, 
foolish  and  narrow-minded,  since  there  must  be  many 
worse  trials  in  life  than  separation  from  a  husband — 
even  so  new  and  dear  a  husband — for  three  inter- 
minable months. 

She  had  not  a  word  to  say  to  the  man  who  drove  her, 
or  any  idea  as  to  the  length  or  shortness  of  the  drive, 
or  any  impression  of  the  country  through  which  she 
passed  ;  which,  to  be  sure,  was  not  too  easy  to  see 
in  the  fading  light  of  the  April  evening.  Only  at  last 
she  realized  dimly  that  her  journey  was  over,  the  dog- 
cart standing  still,  and  someone  running  out  from  an 
open  front  door  to  greet  her. 

"  Oh,  Margery,  dear,  you  must  be  simply  worn  out !  " 
the  very  softest  voice  in  the  world  was  exclaiming. 
Two  soft,  plump  hands  clasped  Margery's  cold  fingers. 
A  very  small  person  stood  enthusiastically  on  tiptoe 
to  kiss  her,  French  fashion,  on  both  cheeks. 

"  Come  in  quickly  f"  cooed  the  soft  voice;  and  one 
of  the  soft  hands,  passed  through  Margery's  unresisting 
arm,  pulled  her  urgently  in. 

The  dazzle  of  lamplight  and  firelight  was  almost 
blinding  after  the  pale  dusk  outside.  Margery  suffered 
herself  to  be  led  in  and  installed  in  a  chair  that  was 
deep  and  cosy,  beside  a  cheerful  fire  that  was  agreeable 
enough,  for  it  was  a  chilly  evening.  How  gladly  she 
would  have  shut  her  eyes  and  never  opened  them  again 

157 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

that  night !  But  that  would  never  do  ;  she  must  not 
give  rise  to  any  suspicion  that  anything  ailed  her 
except  weariness.  With  a  great  effort  she  pulled  her- 
self upright,  and  opened  her  tired  eyes. 

"  Now  don't  talk  !  "  the  soft  voice  insisted.  "  You 
look  a  perfect  wreck — so  white,  and  such  great  saucers 
round  your  eyes  !  Oh,  Margery,  how  tall  you  are  ! 
You  make  me  feel  a  perfect  dwarf." 

Margery  forced  a  very  faint  smile  to  her  lips. 

"  See,  you  shall  have  your  tea  there — we  don't 
have  late  dinner  when  we  are  by  ourselves,  and,  of 
course,  we  shall  not  treat  you  as  a  stranger  !  I  had  it 
all  ready,  thinking  you  would  be  cold  and  tired.  I 
wish  I  could  have  met  you ;  but  I  make  a  point  of 
never  being  out  when  Phyllis  goes  to  bed.  And 
Herbert  was  so  very  sorry  that  he  could  not  go  to  the 
station,  either.  He  had  an  important  meeting,  which 
he  could  not  miss." 

"  You  are  very  kind,  Cousin  Dora,"  said  Margery; 
and,  revived  a  little  by  the  hot  tea,  looked  across  at 
her  unknown  hostess  with  eyes  more  alive  to  take 
in  impressions — the  impressions  of  a  very  tiny,  trim 
figure,  flitting  round  the  table,  and  a  very  pretty  face 
bending  over  the  teapot.  She  was  vaguely  surprised  to 
find  Mrs.  Jannaway  so  young — not  so  much  older 
than  herself,  it  would  seem  ;  and  yet  that  was  im- 
possible in  the  mother  of  a  daughter  old  enough  to 
need  a  governess. 

"  Now,  do  you  feel  rested  enough  to  come  to  the 
table  and  have  something  to  eat  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Janna- 
way ;  and  Margery  rose,  towering  over  her  little  hostess. 

158 


The  Jannaways 

The  room  seemed  large,  after  the  little  Devonshire 
farm — a  very  pretty,  old-fashioned  room,  with  brown 
beams  across  the  ceiling.  The  table  was  daintily  laid, 
with  abundance  of  good  country  provender,  for  which 
Mrs.  Jannaway  saw  fit  to  apologize  gaily. 

"  You  have  not  been  used  to  this  sort  of  humble 
food  at  the  Croomes'  !  "  she  said,  helping  Margery  to 
perfectly  cooked  eggs  and  bacon,  and  pouring  thick 
cream  into  her  cup. 

"  Indeed,  no !  nothing  half  so  good  !  "  said  Margery 
sincerely ;  and  found,  to  her  surprise,  that  she  was 
actually  smiling  in  quite  a  natural  way.  True,  her 
heart  was  aching  so  for  Denzil  that  she  dared  not  think 
of  him ;  but  now  that  her  intense  weariness  and 
hunger  were  lessened,  the  world  was  by  no  means  so 
black  a  place  as  it  had  seemed  some  half-hour  before. 
It  was  possible  to  look  about  her  with  interest,  to  talk, 
and  to  consider  her  hostess  afresh.  Seen  at  close 
quarters,  Mrs.  Jannaway  did  not  appear  so  fabulously 
young,  after  all — somewhere  in  the  later  thirties, 
perhaps  ;  but  she  was  undeniably  a  very  pretty  woman, 
in  a  tiny,  plump,  doll-like  way,  with  big  blue  eyes  and 
waving  fair  hair. 

"  There's  Herbert !  "  she  cried  suddenly,  and  jumped 
up  and  ran  out  into  the  hall  as  if  she  had  been  married 
a  couple  of  weeks  instead  of  a  dozen  years.  When 
she  came  back  hanging  on  his  arm,  it  gave  Margery 
such  a  sharp  pang  that  she  had  to  drop  her  eyes 
for  a  moment  to  hide  the  distress  in  them.  If 
only  there  were  any  chance  of  her  husband's  coming  in 
presently ! 

159 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

"  This  is  Herbert !  "  said  Mrs.  Jannaway  artlessly  ; 
and  Margery,  looking  up  at  last,  was  impressed  by  the 
fact  that  this  was  a  man  with  a  very  sad  face.  Other- 
wise her  unknown  cousin  was  not  remarkable  in  any 
way ;  of  average  good  looks,  average  height,  average 
colouring.  He  greeted  her  kindly,  and  then  relapsed 
into  a  silence  that  seemed  natural  to  him,  while  his  wife 
chattered  to  him,  and  extracted  brief  answers  to  her 
many  questions.  She  had  a  hundred  trivialities  to 
tell  him  of  her  own  doings  and  Margery's  arrival ; 
fifty  inquiries  as  to  how  the  meeting  had  gone  and  who 
was  there  :  especially — with  a  side-glance  at  Margery, 
to  see  how  she  took  it — if  the  Duke  was  there.  But 
the  matter  fell  rather  flat,  for  Mr.  Jannaway  replied 
merely  that  he  was  not ;  and  Margery  was  so  absorbed 
in  wonder  at  the  ceaseless  flow  of  prattle,  that  she 
took  little  heed  of  the  awe-inspiring  word. 

"  I  suppose  you  met  any  number  of  great  people 
at  the  Croomes'  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Jannaway,  turning  on 
her  suddenly. 

But  Margery's  reply  was  again  very  disappointing, 
and  her  hostess  was  scandalized  to  hear  how  little 
she  had  been  expected  to  leave  the  schoolroom. 

"  I  call  it  a  shame  !  "  she  cried  virtuously.  "  You 
ought  to  have  been  treated  exactly  as  one  of  the  family 
— I  should  have  insisted  on  it,  if  I  had  made  the  arrange- 
ments for  you  !  I  can't  imagine  how  people  can  bring 
themselves  to  behave  so  to  anyone.  But  I  suppose, 
at  least,  you  heard  of  plenty  of  interesting  people — 
for  the  Croomes  are  enormously  wealthy,  I've  always 
understood !  " 

160 


The  Jannaways 

But  Margery,  racking  her  brains,  could  only  produce 
one  law-lord  and  one  baronet's  widow  for  the  delecta- 
tion of  Mrs.  Jannaway,  who  was  obviously  very  much 
disappointed. 

"  I  thought  you  would  be  sure  to  have  any  amount 
of  interesting  things  to  tell  me  !  "  she  said.  "  Here, 
you  see,  quite  in  the  country  as  we  are,  we  have  to 
take  just  what  society  there  is,  bad  and  good  together. 
I  suppose  you  have  never  been  in  the  country  before, 
though,  since  you  were  a  child  ?  " 

"  Only  lately,  for  a  short  time,"  said  Margery,  with 
a  sudden  lump  in  her  throat.  Her  voice  faltered  so 
suddenly,  in  fact,  and  she  turned  so  white,  that  Mr. 
Jannaway,  glancing  up  at  her,  was  moved  to  say  briefly 
to  his  wife  :  "  She's  absolutely  worn  out.  Don't  keep 
her  up  any  longer  !  " 

"  Would  you  like  to  go  to  bed|  Margery  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  Jannaway. 

"Please!"  faltered  Margery;  and  had  no  voice  left 
for  more. 

Mrs.  Jannaway,  candle  in  hand,  preceded  her  up- 
stairs, and  still  she  chattered  in  her  soft,  cooing 
voice. 

"  You  must  come  and  see  Phyllis  !  "  she  said,  break- 
ing off  suddenly ;  and  opening  a  door  softly,  she  led  the 
way  in. 

Margery's  only  wish  was  to  be  alone  and  cry  her  heart 
out,  but  she  could  not  say  so.  She  could  only  follow 
dumbly  to  where  Mrs.  Jannaway  was  bending  over  a 
little  bed. 

"  Isn't  she  sweet  I  "  she  said. 

161  II 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

Margery,  stooping  to  look,  gave  an  exclamation  under 
her  breath.  For  the  candle-light,  shaded  by  Mrs. 
Jannaway's  hand,  fell  softened  on  the  most  lovely 
childish  face  that  she  had  ever  seen.  The  rounded 
arms  were  tossed  up  carelessly  on  the  pillow,  half 
hidden  in  a  cloud  of  golden  curls.  The  delicate  small 
features,  the  soft  oval  of  the  little  face,  were  quite 
perfect ;  the  dark  eyebrows  and  eyelashes  gave 
character  and  charm. 

"  How  beautiful !  "  whispered  Margery.  "  What 
colour  are  her  eyes  ?  " 

"  Brown,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway ;  and,  curiously, 
Margery  felt  that  she  had  asked  exactly  the  wrong 
question,  and  was  glad  to  follow  her  cousin  out  of  the 
room. 

"  Your  room  is  a  little  high  up,  I'm  afraid,"  said 
Mrs.  Jannaway,  flitting  on  again  in  front ;  "  but  it 
has  such  a  lovely  view — I  was  sure  you  would  appre- 
ciate that,  after  London  !  I  was  in  two  minds  whether 
to  give  you  this  room  or  one  near  ours,  but  the  view 
decided  me !  " 

"  It  was  kind  of  you  to  think  of  that,"  said  Margery, 
following  wearily. 

The  room  certainly  was  high  up,  at  the  very  top  of 
the  rambling,  old-fashioned  house.  It  was  also  very 
like  an  attic,  and  very  small.  But  it  was  fresh  and 
sweet,  and  gay  with  muslin  draperies  and  ribbons,  in 
the  old  country  manner ;  and  Margery  was  only  too 
thankful  to  be  left  alone  in  it  after  Mrs.  Jannaway  had 
kissed  her,  and  chattered,  and  fluttered  about  here  and 
there,  and  finally  kissed  her  again  before  she  departed. 

163 


The  Jannaways 

Margery  waited  until  the  clack  of  the  little  high-heeled 
shoes  on  the  stairs  had  died  away ;  then  she  made 
haste  to  lock  her  door  that  she  might  pull  out  her 
wedding-ring,  hung  round  her  neck  on  a  little  gold 
chain,  and  kiss  it,  with  floods  of  tears  and  a  thousand 
tender  thoughts  of  Denzil.  It  was  only  that  very 
morning — or  was  it  a  year  ago  ? — that  he  had  taken 
off  the  ring,  and  fastened  it  round  her  neck  with  a 
ridiculous  gold  padlock,  and  hung  the  absurd  little  key 
on  his  watch-chain  ;  and  Margery  had  reproached  him 
for  extravagance  in  buying  the  trinket,  and  there  had 
been  tears,  and  kisses,  and  a  glowing  word-picture, 
painted  of  course  by  Denzil,  of  the  glorious  day  when 
he  should  come  to  claim  his  wife,  the  months  of  proba- 
tion over,  and  nothing  but  happiness  before  them.  It 
seemed  to  poor  Margery  half  a  lifetime  away,  as  she 
sobbed  herself  to  sleep,  holding  her  ring. 

The  April  sun  was  streaming  in  through  her  pretty 
thin  curtains  when  she  woke,  and  she  rose  and  dressed 
as  fast  as  an  aching  head  would  let  her,  remembering 
dimly  Mrs.  Jannaway's  remarks  over-night  about  early 
hours  in  the  country.  She  was  just  not  late  for  break- 
fast, and  Mrs.  Jannaway  shook  a  plump  forefinger  at 
her  in  playful  reproach  as  she  appeared. 

"  Don't  forget  what  early  folks  we  are  here,  Mar- 
gery !  "  she  said.  "  However,  for  this  once  I'll  forgive 
you.  I  daresay  you  are  still  tired  after  your  journey. 
Jane,  breakfast  this  morning  is  a  minute  and  a  half 
late.  Don't  let  it  occur  again  !  " 

She  was  not  so  young  in  the  bright  morning  sun- 
shine as  she  had  seemed  over-night  in  the  shaded  glow 

163  II* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

of  the  lamp  ;  the  faint  lines  on  her  forehead  and  round 
her  mouth  had  not  shown  at  all  then.  But  she  was 
trim  and  dainty  and  pretty,  with  plump  hands  always 
busy,  and  bright  eyes  that  nothing  escaped.  The  break- 
fast was  a  model  of  a  country  breakfast,  with  cream, 
eggs,  honey,  flowers ;  and  Mrs.  Jannaway  chat- 
tered softly  of  her  fowls,  her  cows,  her  garden,  and  the 
pleasure  it  would  be  to  have  Margery's  help  and  com- 
panionship. "  For  Phyllis'  lessons  are  a  very  small 
business  at  present,"  she  said ;  "  and  I'm  afraid  you 
will  find  her  sadly  backward." 

"  Has  Margery  seen  her  ? "  asked  Mr.  Jannaway 
suddenly. 

"  Yes,  I  saw  her  asleep  last  night.  I  think 
she  is  perfectly  lovely !  "  said  Margery ;  and  thought 
again  what  a  very  sad  and  anxious  face  her  cousin  had, 
and  what  brown,  pathetic  eyes,  like  those  of  a  collie 
dog.  It  was  very  pleasant  to  her  to  be  made  one  of 
the  family  like  this  at  once ;  how  different  from  Can- 
ning Place !  Margery's  sad  heart  warmed  at  her 
cousins'  kindness.  Since  she  must  be  separated  from 
Denzil,  it  seemed  as  if  she  could  have  no  happier  tem- 
porary home  than  this.  "  If  only  they  knew  how 
fortunate  they  are  !  "  she  thought  to  herself,  looking 
from  one  to  the  other  with  large  grave  eyes.  She 
tried  to  fancy  Denzil  and  herself  in  some  such  peaceful 
country  home  as  this ;  but  the  idea  brought  such  a 
lump  into  her  throat  and  such  a  wave  of  lonely  longing, 
that  she  had  to  banish  it  as  fast  as  she  could. 

"  Does  Phyllis  not  come  down  to  breakfast  ?  "  she 
asked. 

164 


The  Jannaways 

"I'm  afraid  Phyllis  is  spoilt !  "  said  Mrs.  J  anna- 
way,  with  her  pretty  smile.  "  She  is  a  wonderful 
person  for  sleep." 

As  she  spoke,  the  child  came  in,  and  stood  for  a 
moment  in  the  doorway — a  slender,  graceful  little 
figure,  in  a  loose  white  woollen  frock  ;  then  she  drifted 
in,  in  a  curious  languid  fashion,  and  kissed  first  her 
mother  and  then  her  father  without  a  word. 

"Go  and  say  'How  do  you  do?'  to  your  Cousin 
Margery,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Cousin  Margery  ?  "  said  Phyllis, 
moving  obediently  to  her  side ;  and  Margery,  turning 
to  kiss  her,  and  meeting  the  exquisite  velvety  brown 
eyes,  received  a  shock  which  left  her  stunned  and 
silent.  For  there  was  no  soul  at  all  behind  the 
beautiful  eyes. 

"  Come  and  eat  your  breakfast,  Phyllis.  You  are 
late,  you  know,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway,  breaking  the 
painful  tension  with  her  soft,  cooing  voice  ;  but  Margery, 
glancing  at  the  father,  saw  a  look  on  his  face  that  made 
her  sick  with  pity.  As  if  the  thing  had  been  put  into 
words,  she  saw  how  he  had  hoped  against  hope  that 
she  might  not  notice  the  child's  difference  from  other 
children. 

Phyllis  had  slipped  silently  into  the  seat  by  her 
mother  and  was  eating  like  a  starved  thing,  paying 
no  attention  to  anything  except  the  food  on  her  plate. 
It  seemed  incredible  that  such  a  slim,  willowy  creature 
should  have  such  an  appetite.  Slice  after  slice  of 
bread  vanished  almost  as  soon  as  it  was  cut ;  the 
last  of  the  eggs  was  eaten ;  the  honey  in  the  pot  sank 

165 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

low.  Mrs.  Jannaway,  her  deft  ringers  supplying  the 
child's  wants  almost  before  they  were  felt,  talked  on  in 
her  pleasant,  soft  voice  about  a  host  of  little  nothings. 
Mr.  Jannaway  said  never  a  word. 

"  I  am  glad  it  is  such  a  fine  day,  Margery,  for  you 
have  everything  to  see.  Are  you  anything  of  a 
gardener  ?  I  am  very  proud  of  my  garden.  Then 
Herbert  will  want  you  to  go  round  the  farmyard  with 
him,  and  Phyllis  must  show  you  her  rabbits 

"  More  honey,  please,"  said  Phyllis  in  her  curious, 
lifeless  voice. 

"  The  honey  is  all  gone,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway,  in- 
vestigating. "  Another  pot  to-morrow,  Phyllis  !  " 

"  I  want  more  now  !  "  said  Phyllis,  and  began  to  cry 
— a  pitiful,  unearthly  wail,  like  that  of  a  tiny  baby. 
Margery  saw  Mr.  Jannaway 's  face  quiver  suddenly. 

"  Everyone  else  has  finished,  and  you  are  keeping 
your  father  and  Cousin  Margery,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway. 
"  Herbert,  won't  you  take  Margery  out  now,  while 
you  have  a  few  minutes  to  spare  ?  Phyllis  and  I 
will  come  directly." 

"Come  along,  Margery!"  said  Mr.  Jannaway; 
and  he  rose  hastily  from  the  table  as  if  thankful  to  get 
away. 

He  took  her  into  the  farmyard,  talking  hurriedly 
of  everything  in  the  world  except  Phyllis  ;  and  Margery, 
seconding  his  efforts,  inspected  pigs  and  sleek  cows 
and  fascinating  greenish  goslings  with  immense  enthu- 
siasm. It  was  a  very  little  while  before  Mrs.  Jannaway 
joined  them,  bringing  a  perfectly  placid  Phyllis,  who 
was  made  to  exhibit  her  rabbits,  and,  under  her 

166 


The  Jannaways 

mother's  skilful  handling,  did  so  in  a  way  not  so  very 
different  from  that  of  an  ordinary  child.  Then  she 
was  sent  to  pick  a  bunch  of  primroses  for  Margery, 
being  skilfully  diverted  from  the  hyacinths  towards 
which  she  drifted  at  first ;  and  Mrs.  Jannaway,  like 
her  husband,  talked  of  everything  else  in  the  world. 
Margery  heard,  in  fact,  apparently  everything  about 
the  whole  working  machinery  of  the  house  in  that 
brief  walk  :  about  the  neighbourhood  and  the  neigh- 
bours :  about  the  post-times  and  the  arrival  of  the 
newspaper. 

"  Are  you  a  great  politician,  Margery  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Jannaway,  noting  with  her  bright  eyes  that  the  girl 
took  more  than  a  perfunctory  interest  in  this  last  piece 
of  information.  And  Margery  blushed  extremely. 
For  she  took  no  more  interest  in  politics  than  the 
average  girl  of  eighteen,  and  the  only  thing  that  she 
really  wanted  to  know  about  was  the  sailing  of  Denzil's 
boat — the  boat  that  would  take  him  even  farther  from 
her  than  he  now  was.  Just  at  present,  post-times  were 
a  matter  of  indifference  to  her ;  for  his  hurried  rush 
across  France  would  leave  him  only  an  insignificant 
number  of  hours  in  Mentone,  and  all  she  could  hope 
for  was  a  letter  from  Southampton  before  he  sailed. 

Before  the  day  was  over,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  known 
her  cousins  all  her  life.  Indeed,  no  one  could  spend 
many  hours  in  the  same  house  with  Mrs.  Jannaway 
without  being  drawn  into  the  vortex  of  her  immense 
energy.  In  spite  of  her  soft  voice  and  caressing 
manner,  no  slave-driver  ever  worked  her  dependents 
harder,  or  was  more  pitiless  as  to  the  quality  of  the 

167 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

work.  Her  household  appointments  were  perfect, 
her  dairy  a  dream  of  cool  spotlessness,  her  great  store- 
cupboard,  with  its  wealth  of  home-made  dainties,  a 
thing  to  rouse  the  wildest  jealousy  in  the  heart  of  a 
town  housekeeper.  Mrs.  Jannaway  expected  her 
servants  to  be  down  by  half-past  five,  and  saw  to  it 
that  they  obeyed.  She  was  down  herself  by  six,  and 
had  done  the  week's  work  of  an  idle  woman  before 
breakfast.  She  never  seemed  to  feel  the  need  of  a 
moment's  rest  in  all  her  busy  day ;  even  when  she  sat 
down,  her  hands  and  tongue  were  ceaselessly  occupied. 
Her  two  servants  fled  before  her  like  leaves  before  a 
storm-wind,  served  her  well  with  frightened  eyes,  and 
referred  to  her  with  bated  breath  as  "  she."  And  yet 
Margery  had  been  days  in  the  house  before  she  ever 
heard  that  soft  voice  raised ;  and  then  it  was,  oddly 
enough,  against  Phyllis,  the  privileged  being  who 
alone  was  allowed  to  idle  without  rebuke.  Such  a 
trifling  offence,  too :  only  a  babyish  pencil-scrawl 
over  some  of  the  visiting-cards  which  lay  neatly  dis- 
posed on  a  shining  brass  tray  in  the  hall.  But  un- 
luckily, though  naturally,  the  defaced  ones  were  those 
which  lay  on  the  top,  and  especially  one  which  bore 
a  title ;  and  a  title  was  as  the  breath  of  life  to  Mrs. 
Jannaway.  Margery,  happening  to  pass  through  the 
hall,  was  astonished  to  hear  the  soft  voice  uplifted 
and  see  the  pretty  doll- face  ruffled.  Phyllis  was 
shrinking  and  wailing. 

"  The  naughty  child  !  Just  look  at  Lady  Denise 
Ormathwaite's  card !  "  cried  Mrs.  Jannaway,  holding 
it  up  wrathfully  for  Margery  to  see. 

168 


The  Jannaways 

"  Sorry  !  "  sobbed  Phyllis. 

"  It's  no  use  being  sorry  afterwards !  "  said  Mrs. 
Jannaway,  with  extreme  sharpness  and  very  poor  logic. 

Margery  was  a  little  bewildered.  The  crime  seemed 
so  small. 

"  Is  Lady  Denise  a  great  friend  of  yours  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"  That's  just  it !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jannaway.  "  If 
it  were  anyone  in  these  parts,  I  should  mind  far  less  ! 
But  she  was  only  staying  in  the  neighbourhood — oh,  it 
must  be  a  couple  of  years  ago  now  ! — and  she  came 
to  ask  for  the  personal  character  of  a  servant.  So 
you  see  I  shall  never  be  likely  to  have  a  card  of  hers 
again !  " 

It  sounded  absurd — or  would  have  done  so  if 
Margery  had  not  already  observed  this  particular 
weakness  in  her  cousin.  Mrs.  Jannaway  could  with- 
stand nothing  in  the  shape  of  a  title.  She  read  her 
Peerage  with  as  much  reverence  as  her  Bible,  and 
much  oftener ;  and  she  had  the  Court  Circular  at  her 
fingers'  ends,  after  the  extraordinary  fashion  of  some 
people  who  have  not  the  faintest  connection  there- 
with. She  leaned  instinctively  towards  greatness  as 
a  flower  turns  to  the  light ;  and,  in  order  to  lift  herself 
a  little  nearer  those  exalted  spheres,  she  always  spoke 
of  her  dog-cart  as  "  the  carriage,"  and  of  the  high  tea 
(to  outsiders  who  did  not  see  it)  as  "  dinner,"  while 
her  manner  in  mentioning  "  the  servants  "  suggested 
a  round  dozen  instead  of  two.  She  had  covered  her- 
self with  glory  once  at  a  seaside  boarding-house 
by  casually  letting  fall  some  mention  of  her  husband's 

169 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

nine  horses,  and  omitting  to  state  that  all  but  one 
were  of  the  cart  variety ;  and  had  lectured  an  im- 
pressible fat  widow  on  the  best  way  of  cleaning  one's 
own  jewellery — "  It  is  so  foolish  to  trust  anything 
really  valuable  out  of  one's  own  hands  " — referring 
to  "  my  diamonds  "  with  an  air  that  effectually  ignored 
the  fact  that  they  were  all  contained  in  one  ring. 

Of  Mr.  Jannaway  Margery  saw  very  little ;  but 
that  little  gave  her  the  impression  of  a  very  reserved 
man,  not  clever,  a  little  overpowered  and  alarmed 
by  the  soft  energy  of  his  wife.  He  farmed  his  own 
land  with  what  appeared  to  be  a  conspicuous  want 
of  success,  and  Margery  fancied  that  only  Mrs.  J  anna- 
way's  extreme  good  management  kept  things  going 
in  comfort.  She  herself,  in  two  days'  time,  had  quite 
fallen  into  her  allotted  place,  with  her  regular  hours 
and  duties  and  plenty  of  them.  But  with  that  she 
had  no  quarrel — it  prevented  her  from  thinking  too 
much  of  the  three  months'  separation  from  Denzil. 
As  for  her  teaching  of  Phyllis,  it  proved  to  be  only 
a  farce,  and  a  sad  and  trying  farce  at  that.  They 
spent  two  serious  hours  together  every  morning,  and 
Margery  faithfully  expended  all  her  patience  and  all 
her  ingenuity  on  a  task  that  was  very  like  pouring 
water  through  a  sieve.  Up  to  a  certain  point  Phyllis 
could  learn.  She  could  repeat  word  for  word  in  the 
most  surprising  fashion  anything  that  Margery  told 
her :  raising  again  and  again  hopes  which  were  all 
too  certainly  destroyed  the  next  day,  when  the  whole 
subject  had  vanished  from  her  brain,  leaving  no  im- 
pression of  any  sort  behind.  She  had  a  certain  facility 

170 


The  Jannaways 

with  her  fingers,  and  could  write  the  most  beautiful 
copies  in  clear  copper-plate  ;  but  they  might  have  been 
Greek  for  all  that  they  represented  to  her.  She  knew 
her  alphabet  and  a  few  words  of  three  letters  ;  but 
arithmetic,  in  its  very  simplest  form,  was  a  sealed  book 
to  her,  and  she  had  an  odd  horror  of  it.  Quite  patient 
and  docile  over  everything  else,  she  would  begin  to 
fret  and  cry  in  her  dreadful  unnatural  wail  the 
moment  that  Margery  attempted  the  subject.  She 
could  not,  or  would  not,  distinguish  one  figure  from 
another.  Nothing  could  induce  her  so  much  as  to 
add  one  and  one  together.  If  Margery  gently  per- 
sisted, she  grew  angry,  and  shrieked  out  in  an  un- 
intelligible gabble  that  was  as  sad  as  it  was  disagree- 
able. Her  only  real  intelligence,  in  fact,  was  shown 
over  music.  She  would  listen  untiringly,  with  lovely, 
rapt,  angelic  face,  to  Margery's  playing  ;  and  though 
she  could  not  learn  the  notes  for  herself,  she  could  pick 
out  almost  anything  by  ear  and  play  it  quite  correctly. 
She  had  a  sweet  singing  voice,  too,  and  learned  with 
pleasure  and  quickness  one  or  two  simple  little  songs. 
The  first  time  that  Mr.  Jannaway  heard  one  of  these, 
his  incredulous  delight  amply  repaid  Margery  for  all 
her  trouble  in  other  subjects. 

"  She  is  really  getting  on,  isn't  she  ?  "  he  exclaimed 
with  an  eager  look  at  Margery.  "  I  knew  she  would 
when  she  once  made  a  start !  " 

"  She  has  learnt  this  very  well  indeed,  and  so  quickly, 
too,"  said  Margery. 

"  And  what  about  other  things  ?  How  does  the 
reading  go  on,  Phyllis  ?  " 

171 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,"  murmured  Phyllis,  with 
vacant  eyes.  Margery  was  thankful  to  be  spared  an 
answer. 

"  And  the  sums  ?    What's  twice  seven,  Phyl  ?  " 

But  at  the  abhorred  word  the  lovely,  expressionless 
face  changed  to  a  blind  anger,  and  Phyllis  broke  into 
the  shrill,  unpleasant  gabble  that  Margery  had  learnt 
to  dread.  The  light  and  hope  dropped  out  of  Mr. 
Jannaway's  face  as  if  he  had  been  struck.  He  rose 
abruptly  and  turned  to  leave  the  room  ;  then  came 
back  again  suddenly  and  stood  at  Margery's  elbow. 

"  Be  good  to  her — the  poor  little  lass ! "  he  said,  in 
a  hoarse  and  broken  voice. 

"I  will!  I  will !"  cried  Margery,  with  tears  of  pity 
in  her  eyes. 

Mrs.  Jannaway  made  no  such  appeal  for  the  child 
whom  she  indulged  and  thought  for  and  shielded  in 
every  possible  way.  She  took  rather  the  line  of  ignoring 
that  there  was  anything  abnormal  about  Phyllis ; 
and,  by  dint  of  great  tact  and  quickness,  she  did  indeed 
succeed  in  making  the  child,  while  with  her,  appear 
almost  like  other  children.  Only  once,  and  then  in  a 
side  way,  did  she  betray  herself. 

She  and  Margery,  walking  together  through  the 
village,  passed  a  pleasant-faced  young  woman  dandling 
a  baby  at  her  door:  an  agreeable,  plump,  and  cheer- 
ful baby,  old  enough  to  take  a  sudden  irresponsible 
fancy  to  Margery  as  she  passed  and  stretch  out  fat 
arms  to  her,  with  coos  and  gurgles  of  delight.  Margery 
stopped,  and  took  the  little  thing  in  the  awkward, 
firm  grip  of  one  who  has  no  experience  of  babies 

172 


The  Jannaways 

and  cannot  afford  to  take  liberties  with  them  ;  and 
the  mother,  charmed,  hastened  to  tell  her  that  this 
was  the  youngest  of  eleven,  and  that  she  had  buried 
five. 

"  Oh,  poor  thing !  "  said  Margery,  with  girlish  pity, 
as  they  went  on  again. 

"  Why  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Jannaway.  Her  soft  voice  was 
a  little  hoarse.  "  Much  better  so.  Better  still  if  she 
had  never  had  any  at  all !  " 

"  Cousin  Dora  !  "  Margery  looked  at  her,  scandalised. 
The  pretty  doll  face  had  changed  to  show  an  unexpected 
hardness  of  contour,  as  the  hand  of  iron,  when  clenched, 
will  betray  itself  through  its  velvet  glove.  Margery 
suddenly  remembered  how  she  had  found  the  young 
housemaid  crying  bitterly  over  a  broken  cup  that 
morning  and  refusing  all  comfort,  because — with  a 
look  of  something  very  like  terror — "  the  mistress 
will  be  so  awful  angry  !  " 

"  You  girls  don't  know  what  it  means,"  said  Mrs. 
Jannaway.  "  Nothing  but  trouble,  worry  and  anxiety 
from  the  time  they  are  born — and  if  you  knew  what 
childbirth  means,  you  would  never  marry  at  all !  " 

Margery  flushed  scarlet.  The  unexpected  coarse- 
ness of  the  phrase  hit  her  like  a  blow  :  struck  pain- 
fully at  certain  dim,  vague,  sweet  fancies,  hardly 
acknowledged  to  herself,  of  some  far-off  and  lovely 
future.  She  wondered  what  Mrs.  Jannaway  would  say 
if  she  could  see  what  hung  on  the  little  chain  round  her 
neck. 


'73 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE    SECRET   THAT   WAS    NOT    KEPT 

"  XTO    letters?"    said    Mr.   Jannaway,  coming    in 

JL  N  hot  and  weary  from  a  vigorous  superin- 
tendence of  sheep-shearing. 

"  Only  one  for  Margery.  It  was  on  the  hall  table — 
oh,  she  must  have  come  in  and  fetched  it !  "  said  Mrs. 
Jannaway,  her  quick  glance  sweeping  the  hall  and 
everything  in  it. 

"  I  don't  see  how  she  could  have  come  in  from  the 
fowls  without  passing  me,"  objected  Mr.  Jannaway, 
who  was  apt  to  be  insistent  about  trifles. 

"  Phyllis,  you  haven't  touched  a  letter  of  Cousin 
Margery's  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Jannaway  suddenly. 

Phyllis  shook  her  head.  She  was  sitting  in  one  of 
the  deep  old-fashioned  window-seats,  making  a  most 
charming  picture,  with  the  sun  streaming  in  behind 
her  and  a  handful  of  cowslips  in  the  lap  of  her  white 
frock. 

"  You  are  sure  ?  "  Mrs.  Jannaway  persisted  ;  and  at 
the  touch  of  sharpness  in  the  tone  Phyllis  looked 
frightened  and  began  to  cry. 

"  Of  course  she  hasn't !  Why  should  she  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Jannaway  hastily. 

174 


The  Secret  that  was  not  kept 

"  Well,  if  Margery  hasn't  been  in  it  must  have 
been  moved,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway.  "  I  must  ask 
her  when  she  comes.  Oh,  there  is  the  paper  at 
last ! " 

It  was  always  her  conceded  right  to  open  it  and 
skim  the  cream  of  the  news,  Mr.  Jannaway  being  quite 
content  to  wait  his  turn  until  the  evening's  leisure. 

"  Anything  interesting  ?  "  he  asked,  preparing  to  go 
out  again. 

"  No.  Lots  of  stupid  Parliamentary  stuff."  Mrs. 
Jannaway  turned  the  pages  rapidly,  flitting  from  one 
column  to  another.  "  Oh,  a  dreadful  wreck  !  "  she 
cried  suddenly.  "  One  of  the  big  liners — only  a  couple 
of  days  out — and  everyone  lost.  What  a  horrible 
thing  !  " 

"  Yes,  that's  bad,"  said  Mr.  Jannaway  reflectively, 
with  the  perfunctory  interest  of  a  person  who  has 
not  much  imagination,  and  is  not  himself  concerned ; 
and  he  went  out  again  to  his  sheep. 

Margery,  coming  in  a  minute  or  two  later,  found  her 
cousin  still  absorbed. 

"  Such  a  dreadful  thing,  Margery ! "  she  cried, 
with  the  gusto  of  the  first  imparter  of  bad  news.  "  A 
wreck — and  every  single  person  lost !  " 

"  A  wreck  !  "  Margery  grasped  the  back  of  a  chair 
suddenly.  There  was  only  one  ship  for  her  in  all  the 
Seven  Seas. 

Mrs.  Jannaway  was  entirely  taken  up  with  her  own 
peculiar  point  of  view.  She  had  lighted  on  a  title 
in  the  list  of  passengers,  and  she  was  actually  in  the 
proud  position  of  having  some  slight  acquaintance,  not, 

175 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

indeed,  with  the  Lord  Stellacombe  in  question,  but  with 
no  less  a  person  than  his  sister.  All  the  other  odd 
hundreds  of  people  on  board  the  ill-fated  vessel  had 
faded  at  once  into  insignificance.  But  Margery  could 
summon  up  no  interest  in  any  nobleman,  however 
unfortunate. 

"  What  is  the  name  of  the  boat  ?  "  she  asked  pain- 
fully. 

"  The  Campaspe — one  of  the  Sellers  Line — going  to 
the  West  Indies." 

The  hall  and  everything  in  it  faded  suddenly  before 
Margery's  eyes  in  a  sort  of  shimmering  mist.  She  con- 
tinued to  stand  upright,  however,  with  a  rigid  hand 
on  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  Mrs.  Jannaway  was 
far  too  absorbed  to  notice  anything  amiss. 

"  I  think  he  has  only  just  come  into  his  title — surely 
I  saw  something  about  it  the  other  day  and  spoke 
about  it  to  you,  Margery  ?  " 

Margery  heard  her  own  voice,  to  her  surprise, 
answering  quite  intelligibly  :  "  I  don't  remember." 

"  Such  a  long  list !  "  said  Mrs.  Jannaway ;  and  went 
on  reading  with  zest. 

It  was  all  that  Margery  could  do  not  to  snatch  the 
paper  from  her  hand.  She  could  not  bear  to  believe 
that  Denzil  was  among  the  ill-fated  number ;  she 
must  see  his  name  with  her  own  eyes  before  she  could 
think  it.  But,  even  stronger  than  her  agony  of  anxiety, 
there  was  the  sense  that  she  must  keep  her  secret — 
his  secret — at  any  cost.  The  minutes  seemed  an 
eternity,  while  Mrs.  Jannaway  read  snatches  aloud  at 
random. 

176 


The  Secret  that  was  not  kept 

"  Well,  we  are  wasting  too  much  time  !  "  she  said  at 
last,  starting  briskly  up.  "  Come,  Margery,  I  have 
only  been  waiting  for  you  to  go  over  the  linen- 
cupboard." 

"  May  I  sit  down  for  five  minutes  first  ?  "  pleaded 
poor  Margery.  "  I  have  been  out  ever  since  breakfast. 
I— I  am  tired." 

Mrs.  Jannaway,  though  a  slave-driver,  was  not  in- 
considerate. "  Very  well — you  do  look  quite  pale 
with  the  heat,"  she  said.  "  I'll  just  start  with  the 
lower  shelves  while  I  wait  for  you." 

She  flitted  out  of  the  hall,  and  Margery  put  out  a 
shaking  hand  for  the  paper.  She  knew  what  she  was 
going  to  see.  There  could  be  no  mistake  ;  the  name 
of  the  Campaspe  had  grown  as  familiar  to  her  as  her 
own,  since  the  date  of  Denzil's  departure  had  been 
fixed.  Her  eyes  dilated  as  they  found  the  fatal  column, 
and  ran  hastily  down  the  names  arranged  in  alpha- 
betical order.  "  Harris — Holmes — Hulbert " 

With  a  whiter  face  than  ever,  Margery  began  at 
the  top  of  the  list  and  read  all  down  its  sad  length. 
She  was  sure  that  the  names  were  all  in  alphabetical 
order  and  that  she  had  missed  none  ;  but  there  was  no 
Holyer  among  them.  She  dropped  her  face  into  her 
hands  with  a  gasp,  and  sat  quite  still.  The  shock,  and 
the  sudden  relief  following  so  closely  on  it,  were  horribly 
unnerving ;  she  felt  almost  too  stunned  to  realize  that 
there  was  still  left  a  perplexity  which  she  had  no  means 
of  solving.  For  in  the  one  hurried  note  she  had  had 
from  Denzil,  scrawled  at  night  in  the  Paris-Lyon 
express,  he  had  spoken  most  confidently  of  the 

177  ia 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

Campaspe  and  of  the  date  of  his  departure  ;  and  what 
could  have  interfered — what  merciful,  providential 
interference — to  alter  his  plans  at  the  very  last 
moment  ? 

"  Margery  !  Margery  !  I  am  waiting  !  "  cried  Mrs. 
Jannaway.  And  Margery  went  upstairs  to  spend  a 
long  hour  folding  and  unfolding  linen,  looking  for  thin 
places,  sorting,  tidying,  putting  away  again.  Finally, 
with  a  pile,  as  heavy  as  she  could  well  carry,  on  her  arm 
for  mending,  she  escaped  to  her  own  room.  Her 
head  was  a  little  clearer  by  this  time.  She  was 
beginning  to  realize  the  extraordinary  and  very  dis- 
agreeable position  in  which  she  stood.  She  had  not 
the  faintest  idea  where  her  husband  might  be,  and 
no  means  whatever  of  finding  out.  He  had  never 
mentioned  where  his  father  was  staying  in  Mentone  ; 
and,  even  if  he  had,  it  would  have  been  quite  useless, 
seeing  how  jealously  the  secret  of  their  marriage  must 
be  guarded.  Thinking  hard,  Margery  could  only 
imagine  that  he  must  have  been  detained  there  in  some 
way,  and  had  lost  all  chance  of  sailing  in  the  Campaspe. 
But  then,  why  had  he  not  written  to  tell  her  so  ?  He 
would  have  reached  Mentone  a  week  ago.  She  had 
been  with  him  in  imagination  all  the  time  of  his  brief 
stay  there,  all  through  his  journey  back  ;  had  noted  the 
sailing  of  the  Campaspe  in  the  paper,  and  had  hoped 
for  the  promised  letter  from  Southampton ;  for,  if  that 
did  not  come,  it  would  mean  weeks  of  waiting  till  she 
could  hear  from  Jamaica.  If  Denzil  were  still  at 
Mentone,  she  ought  to  have  heard  from  him  days 
before. 

178 


The  Secret  that  was  not  kept 

Margery's  fingers  flew  over  her  fine  darning  to  keep 
pace  with  her  thoughts.  The  suspense  seemed  un- 
bearable ;  any  certain  knowledge  would  be  easier. 
At  one  moment  she  told  herself,  with  a  gasp  of  relief, 
that  all  must  be  well,  since  DenziTs  name  was  not  in 
the  passenger-list  of  the  ill-fated  vessel ;  and  then 
would  come  the  maddening  thought  of  a  thousand 
other  dangers  which  might  have  befallen  him  by  sea 
and  land  since  she  had  parted  from  him.  For  if  he 
were  safe  at  Mentone  all  this  time — she  kept  recurring 
again  and  again  to  that  thought — he  surely  would  have 
written  to  her  days  ago  to  explain  any  change  of  plans. 
She  read  and  re-read  the  one  letter  she  had — it  had 
never  left  her,  night  or  day,  since  its  arrival — and  found 
there  no  trace  of  light.  There  were  so  many  possi- 
bilities, and  no  certainty  anywhere.  It  was  even 
possible — a  thought  which  checked  Margery's  fingers, 
and  sent  the  blood  to  her  face  in  a  flood — that  Denzil 
might  have  summoned  up  courage,  face  to  face  with 
his  father,  to  confess  their  marriage,  and  might  have 
been  forgiven,  and  be  even  now  on  his  way  back  to  tell 
her  so.  It  was  exactly  the  sort  of  boyish  triumph 
which  would  most  commend  itself  to  him,  to  burst  in 
upon  her  suddenly,  without  any  previous  warning. 
Margery  sprang  up,  and  began  walking  feverishly  about 
her  little  room  ;  and  then  checked  herself,  set  her  lips, 
and  sat  down  to  her  work  again.  It  was  not  likely 
— it  was,  indeed,  the  least  likely  possibility  of  all ; 
for  she  knew  Denzil's  nature  well  by  six  weeks'  experi- 
ence, and  his  father's  well  enough  by  all  she  had  been 
told.  She  must  not  let  herself  dwell  on  any  such 

179  12* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

glorious  vision.  She  could  at  least  be  thankful  that 
Denzil  had  not  gone  down  in  the  Campaspe.  Content- 
ing herself  with  that,  she  must  school  herself  to  wait 
patiently  for  a  further  explanation. 

An  excellent  resolution  ;  and  Margery  was  strong- 
natured,  and  well  schooled  in  the  school  of  patience. 
But  it  was  hard  to  keep  any  sort  of  restraint  on  her 
face  and  voice  when  post-time  came,  while,  for  a  day 
or  two,  there  was  just  the  faint  possibility  of  a  delayed 
letter  from  Southampton.  She  was  glad — or  told  her- 
self that  she  was  glad — when  none  came,  so  that  she 
might  dismiss  the  lost  Campaspe  from  her  mind.  But 
yet,  as  days  came  and  went  without  a  word  of  any 
sort,  the  mystery  thickened  to  such  an  extent  that 
she  saw  no  gleam  of  light  anywhere.  She  found  herself 
starting — and  hoping  that  it  had  not  been  noticeable 
— at  any  sudden  ring  or  footstep  ;  for  still  the  slight 
hope  lurked  in  her  mind,  try  as  she  might  to  banish  it, 
that  Denzil  might  solve  the  problem  in  person.  But 
he  neither  came  nor  wrote  ;  and  the  days  slipped  by 
and  turned  into  weeks. 

The  strain  was  terrible.  Such  a  burden  of  anxiety 
and  distress  would  have  been  hard  enough  to  bear 
at  any  time,  even  if  she  had  had  the  relief  of  being 
able  to  discuss  it  with  her  cousins  ;  but,  added  to  the 
necessary  secrecy,  and  her  terror  of  Mrs.  Jannaway's 
all-seeing  eyes,  it  rapidly  became  almost  beyond  her 
strength.  She  was  gradually  coming  to  the  conclusion 
that  Denzil  must  be  ill — so  seriously  ill  that  he  could 
not  write ;  and  the  thought  was  maddening,  when 
she  did  not  even  so  much  as  know  where  he  was.  For 

180 


The  Secret  that  was  not  kept 

Denzil,  so  tender-hearted  and  sympathetic,  would 
certainly  never  have  left  her  in  this  suspense  if  he  could 
in  any  way  have  avoided  it.  Small  wonder  that  she 
grew  daily  whiter  and  thinner,  with  a  drawn  look 
about  her  face.  She  could  not  sleep  ;  or,  when  she 
could,  she  was  haunted  by  such  dreams  as  made  her 
glad  to  wake  again.  Her  appetite  vanished,  and  meals 
became  an  ordeal  hard  to  face. 

"  Margery,  you  are  not  looking  well,"  said  Mrs. 
Jannaway  at  last.  "  You  are  eating  absolutely 
nothing.  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  am  quite  well,"  said  Margery  lamely, 
clutching  at  her  secret  with  despairing  hands.  It 
had  never  been  her  habit  to  complain  ;  but  she  would 
confess  to  any  amount  of  physical  discomfort  now, 
if  only  she  could  distract  Mrs.  Jannaway  from  the  idea 
that  her  suffering  was  mental.  It  was  true  enough, 
too,  that  she  was  not  feeling  by  any  means  well. 

"  I  always  do  the  household  doctoring.  We  haven't 
had  Dr.  Giles  for  years  !  "  said  Mrs.  Jannaway  with 
brisk  triumph.  "  Tell  me  just  how  you  feel,  and  I'll 
give  you  something  to  put  you  right  in  no  time  !  " 

If  only  that  were  possible !  thought  Margery 
sadly.  But  she  was  only  too  thankful  to  find  that 
her  cousin  seemed  to  be  quite  without  suspicion  of 
the  sort  of  thing  that  really  was  the  matter ;  and, 
to  lead  her  as  far  from  the  truth  as  possible,  she  re- 
counted all  she  felt  with  as  much  detail  as  she  could 
muster.  Really,  when  told  at  length  like  this,  she 
actually  did  appear  to  be  quite  definitely  unwell. 
Mrs.  Jannaway  pulled  her  up  very  unexpectedly. 

181 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  Margery  !  "  she  said.  "  I  don't  think  you  can 
quite  realize  what  you  are  saying  !  " 

Her  tone  was  so  odd  that  Margery  stopped  short, 
and  looked  at  her  in  astonishment  with  large,  weary 
eyes.  Her  expression  was  as  odd  as  her  tone. 

"  I  don't  understand,"  said  Margery  blankly. 

"  Nor  do  I  !  "  said  Mrs.  Jannaway,  very  sharply 
indeed.  "  If  you  were  married,  Margery,  I  should 
think  I  understood  extremely  well !  " 

If  she  were  married  !  Margery,  not  understanding 
in  the  least,  blushed  a  deep,  guilty  scarlet. 

"  Margery  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Jannaway  ;  and  no  italics 
will  express  the  volume  of  meaning  in  that  one  word. 

Margery  sat  up  very  straight,  and  the  colour  faded 
from  her  face  as  suddenly  as  it  had  come.  She  looked 
at  Mrs.  Jannaway  steadily. 

"  Please  tell  me  exactly  what  you  mean,  Cousin 
Dora,"  she  said. 

"  Well — since  you  want  me  to  put  it  in  plain  words," 
cried  Mrs.  Jannaway  crudely,  "  if  any  young  married 
woman  came  to  me  and  said  what  you  have  said,  I 
should  tell  her  that  it  meant  a  baby !  " 

Margery  gave  a  little  cry,  and  put  her  hand  up  to 
her  throat  as  if  she  suddenly  could  not  breathe. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  it  is  true  ?  "  said  Mrs. 
Jannaway.  Her  voice  had  dropped  to  a  sharp  whisper. 

"  I — never  thought  of  it,"  said  Margery,  looking 
straight  in  front  of  her  with  wide,  dilated  eyes. 

"  You  never  thought  of  it  I "  Mrs.  Jannaway  rose 
in  a  whirlwind  of  virtuous  wrath,  as  five  feet  of  woman- 
hood usually  can  rise  on  occasion.  And,  indeed,  from 

182 


The  Secret  that  was  not  kept 

her  point  of  view,  Margery's  answer  was  not  calculated 
to  appease.     "  You  never  thought  of  it!" 

The  storm  broke  upon  Margery's  defenceless  head  in 
full  force,  so  suddenly  that  at  first  it  did  not  touch 
her  ;  for  she  was  far  away  in  a  dim,  bewildered  world 
of  innocence  and  ignorance,  where  this  new  knowledge 
had  dawned  with  a  blinding  effect.  But,  coming  slowly 
back  to  reality,  the  full  sense  of  what  Mrs.  Jannaway 
was  saying  came  upon  her,  and  made  her  cry  out 
sharply. 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Dora,  don't !  You  don't  understand 
— I  am  married  !  " 

"  Married !  " 

The  words  died  away  on  Mrs.  Jannaway's  angry  lips- 
She  stared  at  Margery  with  round,  hard,  incredulous 
blue  eyes. 

"  Months  ago — in  London." 

"  And  why  was  I  not  told,  pray  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  I  ought  to  have  told  you  when  I  came 
here,"  said  Margery  earnestly.  "  Indeed,  I  am  sorry. 
But  it  had  to  be  a  secret  at  first,  and  we  thought  it  best 
to  tell  no  one." 

"  Why  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Jannaway. 

"  Please  don't  ask  me,  Cousin  Dora,"  said  Margery, 
more  earnestly  than  ever.  "  Indeed,  I  will  tell  you 
everything  as  soon  as  I  may.  Please  believe  that  there 
is  nothing  wrong  about  it !  " 

"  And  you  actually  had  the  insolence  to  come  here 
under  a  name  that  was  not  yours  any  more  ?  " 

Margery  hung  her  head.    She  could  not  deny  that. 

"  What  is  your  name,  pray  ?  '' 
183 


The  Real   Mrs.   Holyer 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Dora,  please  don't  ask  me  any  questions  ! 
it  is  all  a  secret — we  can't  help  it  at  present." 

"  I  don't  like  secrets,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway,  very 
unpleasantly  indeed.  "  Where  is  your  husband  ?  " 

"  I — don't  know,"  said  Margery  faintly. 

'  You  don't  know  !  "  said  Mrs.  Jannaway,  in  a  slow 
voice  which  struck  Margery  cold.  But  she  held  up 
her  head  bravely. 

"  We  were  married  on  the  thirteenth  of  February, 
when  I  left  Mrs.  Croome.  We  went  down  to  Devon- 
shire for  our  honeymoon.  My  husband  was  called 
away  suddenly,  and  did  not  like  to  leave  me  alone  ; 
so  we  settled  that,  if  you  could  have  me,  I  had  better 
stay  with  you  till  he  came  home  again." 

"He  is  abroad,  then  ? "  said  Mrs.  Jannaway 
acutely. 

"  I  can't  tell  you  any  more  !  Oh,  Cousin  Dora,  I 
am  sorry ! "  said  Margery.  "  I  shall  be  only  too 
glad  when  I  can — it  must  sound  so  foolish,  I'm 
afraid " 

"  It  hadn't  struck  me  as  exactly — foolish,"  said  Mrs. 
Jannaway ;  and  there  was  an  unpleasant  pause. 

"  Come,  Margery  !  This  is  nonsense,  you  know  !  " 
said  Mrs.  Jannaway.  "  You  must  admit  that  it  is 
rather  a  surprise  to  hear  all  this,  and  I  should  like  to 
know  a  little  more  before  I  am  satisfied.  I  suppose 
you  don't  mind,  for  instance — just  for  the  satisfaction 
of  the  thing — letting  me  see  your  marriage  certificate  ?  " 

"  I — haven't  got  it,"  said  Margery  very  low ;  yet 
glad,  too,  that  she  could  say  so  truthfully,  since  Denzil's 
name  must  not  be  known. 

184 


The  Secret  that  was  not  kept 

"  You  haven't  got  it  ?  " 

"  I  gave  it  to  my  husband  when  we  came  out  of 
church — I  had  no  pocket " 

The  pause  that  followed  was  more  unpleasant  than 
the  one  before  it.  Mrs.  Jannaway's  lips  were  set  in  a 
thin  line.  Her  eyes  were  harder  than  ever. 

"  Don't  you  think  that  all  this  is  rather  childish  ?  " 
she  said.  "  I  suppose  you  know  that  it  is  possible  to 
get  a  copy  ?  You  do  know,  of  course,  what  church 
you  were  married  in  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Margery. 

"  Come,  that  is  something,  at  least  !  Well,  will 
you  write  for  a  copy  ?  " 

"  I  can't ! "  said  Margery  desperately.  "  Haven't 
I  told  you  that  I  don't  want  you  to  know  what  my 
married  name  is  ?  Cousin  Dora,  you  can't  suppose 
that  I  am  not  really  married  ?  Here  is  my  wedding- 
ring  !  " 

She  pulled  out  the  little  gold  chain  and  held  out  the 
ring  on  the  palm  of  her  hand — reluctantly,  for  it  seemed 
almost  sacrilege  to  show  what  Denzil  had  hung  there 
on  that  sad  last  morning  of  parting.  To  her  innocent 
heart  it  seemed  that  this  proof  must  once  and  for  all 
settle  all  difficulties.  She  was  dismayed  to  find  that 
Mrs.  Jannaway  did  not  see  it  at  all  in  this  light. 

*'  Anyone  can  have  a  wedding-ring — that  proves 
nothing !  "  she  said,  with  a  slighting,  perfunctory 
glance.  "  No,  Margery,  I  must  have  something  better 
than  that !  I  tell  you  frankly  that  I  don't  like  all  this 
secrecy,  unless  you  can  make  me  understand  some 
good  reason  for  it." 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  My  husband  did  not  want  his  father  to  know  just 
at  first,  because  he  was  dependent  on  him,"  said 
Margery,  choosing  her  words  slowly  and  carefully. 
There  could  be  no  harm  in  telling  so  much.  But,  un- 
fortunately, Mrs.  Jannaway  appeared  to  think  that 
there  was  not  much  good  in  it,  either. 

"  Well — I  don't  suppose  I  know  your  husband's 
father  !  "  she  said.  "  So  what  would  be  the  harm  of 
telling  me  ?  " 

"  We  did  not  want  to  run  any  risk  of  its  getting 
round  to  him " 

"  In  other  words,  you  wouldn't  trust  me  1  "  said  Mrs. 
Jannaway,  in  open  annoyance.  "  Really,  I'm  very 
much  obliged  to  you,  Margery  !  Pray,  how  did  you 
manage  down  in  Devonshire  ?  " 

"  We  did  not  go  in  my  husband's  own  name,"  said 
Margery,  very  low  indeed.  "  I  did  not  think  that  it 
mattered  much  down  there,  where  no  one  was  ever 
likely  to  see  us  again.  But  I  did  not  like  to  come  to 
you  under  a  false  name." 

"  Really,  I  should  not  have  expected  you  to  be  so 
scrupulous  !  "  said  Mrs.  Jannaway. 

Margery  winced. 

"  You  seem  to  have  considered  that  the  whole  world 
was  standing  round  intent  on  your  affairs.  Is  your 
husband's  father  anyone  of  such  tremendous  import- 
ance as  all  that  ?  What  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  faltered  Margery. 

"  You  don't  know  1     Where  does  he  live  ?  " 

"  I — am  not  sure." 

Margery's  voice  was  getting  lower  and  lower,  and 
186 


The  Secret  that  was  not  kept 

her  eyes  were  frightened.    She  began  to  see  for  herself 
how  exceedingly  lame  the  story  sounded. 

Mrs.  Jannaway's  next  questions  came  sharp  and 
sudden,  like  pistol-shots. 

"  How  long  had  you  known  this  man  ?  " 

Margery's  head  went  up. 

"  I  had  known  my  husband  for  only  a  short  time  before 
we  were  married." 

"  In  that  short  time  you  met  him — how  often  ?  " 

"  Seven  times." 

"  Seven  times  !  You  don't  mean  me  to  understand 
that  your  wedding-day  was  only  the  eighth  time  you 
had  spoken  to  him  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

Mrs.  Jannaway  gasped.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  as 
if  her  breath  were  too  much  taken  away  for  her  to 
say  any  more. 

"  Was  Mrs.  Croome  aware  of  what  was  going  on  ?  " 
she  asked  at  last  very  sharply. 

"  No."  In  the  midst  of  her  trouble,  Margery  could 
almost  have  smiled  at  the  incongruousness  of  the 
idea. 

"  Then  where  did  you  meet  your — husband  ?  Who 
introduced  him  to  you  ?  " 

"  We  met  through  an  accident.  No  one  introduced 
him." 

In  her  anger  at  Mrs.  Jannaway's  very  offensive  tone, 
Margery  replied  with  the  briefest  and  most  literal 
version  of  the  truth,  never  stopping  to  think  how 
damning  it  sounded. 

"  I  am  to  understand,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway 
187 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

drily,  "  that  you  married  a  man  of  whom  you  knew 
practically  nothing,  after  the  very  shortest  acquaintance 
with  him.  No  one  knew  of  it  at  the  time ;  and  the 
whole  thing  is  to  be  kept  secret  until  some  indefinite 
date  in  the  future,  when  it  is  convenient  for  him  that 
it  shall  be  known." 

Margery  said  nothing.  There  did  not  seem  any- 
thing to  say. 

"  Now,  is  it  likely,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway,  flaring  out 
into  sudden  anger,  "  that  I  should  believe  an  absurd 
story  like  that  without  proof  of  any  sort  ?  " 

"  Whether  you  believe  it  or  not,  it  is  the  truth  !  " 
said  Margery.  Her  eyes  were  blazing  in  her  white 
face.  Mrs.  Jannaway,  meeting  them,  was  startled 
into  silence  for  a  moment ;  and  her  next  words  were 
more  conciliatory. 

"  Come,  Margery,  I  don't  want  to  be  hard  on  you. 
Tell  me  all  about  it,  and  I  will  do  the  best  I  can  for 
you  ;  but  you  must  see  that  this  is  too  absurd  !  " 

"  I  don't  tell  lies,"  said  Margery.  "  What  I  have 
told  you  is  the  truth,  as  far  as  it  goes ;  and  I  cannot 
tell  you  a  word  more  until  my  husband  comes  to  fetch 
me,  and  says  that  there  is  no  need  to  keep  our  marriage 
a  secret  any  longer." 

"  Until  I "  said  Mrs.  Jannaway,  with  a  sharp,  un- 
pleasant laugh.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  I  may  wait  long 
enough  in  that  case  !  Besides — as  you  have  found 
out — this  kind  of  secret  is  apt  to  tell  itself." 

Margery  sat  down  suddenly,  shaking  all  over,  feeling 
utterly  helpless,  all  alone,  frightened.  If  only  Denzil 
might  appear  at  that  moment !  How  he  would  take 

188 


The  Secret  that  was  not  kept 

her  part  and  annihilate  Mrs.  Jannaway  !  Or,  if  it 
seemed  better  to  him,  how  easily  he  would  put  the 
whole  matter  to  rights  in  his  charming,  persuasive 
fashion,  telling  no  more  than  she  had  done,  but  telling 
it  in  such  an  irresistible  way  that  it  would  give  perfect 
satisfaction.  Often  as  she  had  longed  for  him  since 
their  parting,  Margery  had  never  wanted  him  so 
intensely  as  now. 

Mrs.  Jannaway  had  been  waiting.  But  at  this  point 
her  patience  came  to  an  end. 

"  Well — am  I  to  understand  that  you  really  refuse 
to  say  anything  more  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  I  can't  /  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  !  "  cried  poor  Margery, 
with  all  her  heart.  The  secret,  which  had  begun  so 
lightly,  was  indeed  a  heavy  burden  now.  It  seemed 
to  her  that,  once  rid  of  it,  nothing  would  ever  be 
able  to  tempt  her  again  from  the  absolutely  plain 
path. 

"  In  that  case,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway  coldly,  "  may  I 
ask  what  you  mean  to  do  ?  " 

"To  do?"  Margery  looked  up  in  bewilderment. 
"  But  I  told  you — I  have  only  to  wait  till  my  husband 
comes  home  again." 

"  Quite  so.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have  asked,  where 
do  you  intend  to  wait  for  him  ?  " 

Margery  went  on  looking  at  her,  trying  with  a 
weary  brain  to  understand,  and  then  suddenly  saw 
the  truth. 

'  You  mean  that  you  want  me  to  go  away  ?  " 

"  Well — it  is  hardly  likely  that  I  should  want  to 
keep  you  under  these  circumstances,  is  it  ?  " 

189 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  I — I  suppose  not,"  said  Margery,  with  a  little 
gasp. 

"  Even  supposing  that  you  were — oh,  I  beg  your 
pardon  !  I  mean,  supposing  that  your  marriage  was 
not  a  secret,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway,  with  an  unveiled 
sneer  in  the  careful  correction,  "  it  would  be  rather 
much,  you  know,  to  expect  me  to  keep  you  here  for — 
the  next  few  months.  Wouldn't  it  ?  " 

"  The  next  few  months  ?  But  my  husband  will  be 
coming  home  soon — he  was  only  to  be  away  for  three 
months  altogether,"  cried  Margery;  and  stopped, 
bewildered,  realizing  with  a  sudden  cold  shiver  that  now 
she  had  no  means  at  all  of  reckoning  the  time  of 
Denzil's  return. 

Mrs.  Jannaway  said  nothing.  Her  face  looked  no 
longer  either  pretty  or  doll-Lke.  The  hard  line  of  cheek 
and  jaw,  the  cold  steely  light  in  the  blue  eyes,  had 
changed  her  suddenly  into  a  middle-aged  woman. 

"  But  of  course,  Cousin  Dora,  I  should  not  think 
of  staying  another  day  if  you  wish  me  to  go  !  "  said 
Margery;  and  rose  with  a  certain  forlorn  pride.  Her 
white,  drawn  young  face  and  troubled  eyes  were 
pitiable  enough.  Even  Mrs.  Jannaway  melted  a 
little. 

"  That  is  nonsense  !  "  she  said.  "  Of  course  you 
will  stay  for  a  few  days  longer — till  we  can  arrange 
something.  Think  how  odd  it  would  look  if  you  went 
away  at  a  minute's  notice,  for  no  apparent  reason  ! 
You  don't  want,  above  all  things,  to  make  people 
suspect  what  is  really  the  matter,  you  know.  I'll  see 

what  Herbert  says " 

190 


The  Secret  that  was  not  kept 

"  You  won't  tell  him  ?  "  said  Margery,  scarlet  in  a 
moment. 

"  Naturally  I  shall  tell  him.  Married  women  don't 
keep  secrets  from  their  husbands,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway, 
in  a  tone  that  turned  the  harmless  little  sentence  into  a 
bitter  jibe.  "  I  can  talk  it  over  with  him  this  afternoon. 
He  is  over  at  Linderwood,  and  won't,  fortunately,  be 
in  to  lunch.  I  am  going  to  drive  over  to  fetch  him, 
so  that  will  be  an  excellent  opportunity." 

Margery  turned  away  towards  the  door,  walking 
blindly. 

'  You  had  better  not  come  down  lo  lunch.  I  will 
send  something  up  to  you,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway;  and 
Margery  knew,  as  well  as  if  the  thing  had  been  put 
into  plain  words,  that  she  was  not  considered  fit  to  sit 
down  to  table  with  Phyllis. 

The  afternoon  was  fine  and  warm — such  an  after- 
noon as  comes  sometimes,  even  in  an  English  May. 
Mrs.  Jannaway,  driving  her  husband  home  along 
shady  lanes — she  drove  better  than  he  did,  and  had 
long  ago  seen  to  it  that  he  understood  that  fact — 
enjoyed  herself  very  much.  She  had  no  especial  interest 
in  Margery  ;  she  was  a  woman  of  very  limited  imagina- 
tion ;  and  other  people's  troubles  are  very  easy  to 
bear,  and  most  interesting  to  relate.  The  story, 
naturally  told  from  her  point  of  view,  lost  nothing  in 
the  telling ;  and  Mr.  Jannaway  was  shocked  and 
astonished  beyond  words. 

"  Now — the  thing  is,  what  is  to  be  done  with  her  ?  " 
said  Mrs.  Jannaway  briskly,  giving  her  cob  a  smart 

191 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

little  flick ;  for  he  had  shown  a  disposition  to  walk, 
and  she  allowed  no  shirking  from  her  animals,  any 
more  than  from  her  human  dependents. 

"To  be  done  ? "  Mr.  Jannaway  stared  at  her  a 
little  blankly. 

"  It  won't  be  easy  to  find  just  the  right  place  to 
send  her  to,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway,  in  her  business-like, 
capable  way.  "  Don't  look  at  me  in  that  ridiculous 
fashion,  Herbert  !  You  don't  suppose  that  I  mean  to 
keep  her  with  us — as  things  are  ?  " 

"  You  don't  mean  to  turn  the  poor  child  out  ?  " 

"  Poor  child,  indeed  !  She's  quite  old  enough  to 
know  better  than  this  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Jannaway.  "  And 
certainly  I  don't  intend  to  keep  her.  Just  think  how 
people  would  talk,  and  what  the  servants  would  say  ! 
Besides,  there  is  Phyllis  to  think  of.  She  is  quite  old 
enough  now  to  notice  things." 

"  But  suppose  the  poor  girl  really  is  married,  after 
all,  and  her  husband  comes  to  fetch  her,  and  finds  that 
we  have  turned  her  out  ?  "  said  Mr.  Jannaway  in  a  very 
troubled  voice. 

"  Now,  Herbert,  is  it  likely  ?  You  don't  mean  to 
say  that  you  believe  in  her  perfectly  absurd  story  ? 
I  don't  want  to  be  hard  on  her,"  said  Mrs.  Jannaway 
virtuously.  "  It's  even  possible  that  she  herself  may 
really  think  she  is  married — but,  of  course,  she  is 
nothing  of  the  sort,  and  the  man  will  never  be  heard  of 
again !  He  seems  to  have  managed  cleverly  enough 
about  getting  rid  of  her  and  planting  her  on  us.  As 
for  '  turning  her  out ' — it's  a  bad  habit  of  yours  to 
get  hold  of  a  silly  phrase  and  keep  on  repeating  it.  I 

192 


The  Secret  that  was  not  kept 

shall  make  inquiries,  quite  quietly,  till  I  hear  of  some 
nice,  suitable  place,  and  then  let  her  go  there  ;  and 
in  the  meantime,  of  course,  she  will  go  on  staying  with 
us.  /  don't  want  to  make  a  scandal." 

Mr.  Jannaway  made  what,  for  him,  was  a  determined 
stand.  "  I  don't  like  it,  Dora !  After  all,  we  are 
the  only  relations  she  has." 

"  Well,  then  you  must  talk  it  over  with  her  your- 
self, and  see  if  she  will  tell  you  any  more  than  she 
has  told  me  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Jannaway,  ruffled. 

"  Good  heavens,  no !  Don't  bring  me  into  the 
matter  at  all !  "  cried  Mr.  Jannaway  in  horror. 

"  Very  well,  then  !  "  said  Mrs.  Jannaway.  "  If  I  am 
to  manage  it,  it  must  be  in  the  way  I  think  best.  I 
shall  go  up  and  tell  her  what  we  have  decided  as 
soon  as  we  get  in — she  is  sure  to  be  still  in  her  room." 

In  pursuance  of  which  intention  she  went  straight 
upstairs  with  determined  feet  the  moment  they  arrived  ; 
for,  to  do  her  justice,  she  permitted  no  more  shirking 
to  herself  than  to  other  people.  And  presumably  her 
plan  might  have  been  carried  out  with  complete  success, 
but  for  the  inconvenient  fact  that  Margery  was  not 
in  her  room  at  all ;  nor,  as  it  subsequently  proved,  in 
the  house. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Lennard  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Jannaway, 
impatiently  summoning  the  housemaid ;  and  heard, 
with  a  disquieted  face,  that  Margery  had  only  waited  till 
she  was  out  of  sight,  before  sending  for  a  dog-cart 
from  the  village  inn,  and  had  departed  forthwith. 

"  She  would  be  just  in  time  for  the  afternoon  London 
express,"  said  Mr.  Jannaway. 

193  13 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  Well,  you  must  telegraph  to  have  her  stopped  !  " 
cried  Mrs.  Jannaway.  "  Go  at  once  !  there  is  no  time 
to  waste  !  " 

Mr.  Jannaway  looked  at  his  watch,  and  shook  his 
head  as  he  looked. 

"  Too  late,  Dora.  The  train  is  due  in  at  six  o'clock. 
I  could  not  possibly  get  a  telegram  through  before 
that !  " 

"  What  is  to  be  done  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Jannaway,  for 
once  perturbed  and  taken  aback. 

"  Nothing,"  said  Mr.  Jannaway ;  and  then  made 
perhaps  the  boldest  speech  of  his  married  life.  "  You 
made  a  great  mistake  in  being  so  hard  on  her,  Dora  !  " 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW 

"VfOU  might  have  knocked  me  down  with  a 
1  feather,  Mrs.  Vaner  my  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Strong,  standing  remarkably  square  and  immovable 
on  her  feet,  "  when  Marracoot's  cart  stopped  at  the 
gate — and  me  only  just  out  of  bed — and  you  step  out 
of  it  and  goes  down  in  the  doorway  as  if  you  was  a 
corp  !  Which  you  looked  very  like  it,  too,  I  will  say. 
Nor  you  ain't  anything  much  to  boast  of  now." 

Margery  turned  her  weary  head  on  her  pillow  as 
if  the  effort  were  almost  too  much  for  her.  It  seemed 
a  year  since  she  left  the  Jannaways  :  a  year  filled 
with  dreadful  rushing  train- journeys  all  across  England, 
with  dreary  waiting  at  a  little  country  station  in  the 
dim  early  dawn  of  a  May  morning,  with  a  jolting  four 
miles  in  the  providential  cart  that  happened  to  pass 
at  an  abnormally  early  hour.  The  actual  manner  of 
her  arrival  was  a  blank  to  her.  She  had  a  vague 
remembrance  of  the  day  brightening  round  her,  and 
the  countryside  becoming  familiar.  She  was  dimly 
conscious  that  Mrs.  Strong  had  been  astonished,  kind, 
and  motherly ;  that  she  had  somehow  been  made  to 
drink  something  very  hot ;  that  she  had  been  helped 

195  J3* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

to  undress,  and  that  bed  had  been  beyond  words 
welcome.  She  was  only  just  awake  now,  and  the  after- 
noon sun  was  already  far  down  the  sky. 

"  I  must  get  up,"  she  said  vaguely ;  but  it  was  too 
much  trouble  to  move. 

"  Don't  you  go  for  to  think  of  any  such  thing  !  " 
said  Mrs.  Strong  firmly.  "  You  lie  still  and  get  rested 
through,  ma'am.  Not  but  what  I'll  be  pleased  to 
hear  what  brings  you  back  all  of  a  sudden  like." 
She  cocked  a  kindly  bright  eye  inquisitively  at 
Margery. 

The  girl  had  closed  her  eyes,  and  would  have  been 
more  than  glad  not  to  have  opened  them  again  all 
day  ;  but  at  this  she  looked  up  and  met  Mrs.  Strong's 
glance  squarely.  Better  set  the  good  woman's  curiosity 
at  rest  once  for  all,  than  leave  her  to  wonder  over  the 
matter  till  it  assumed  enormous  proportions. 

"  I  have  been  staying  with  a  cousin  of  mine," 
she  said.  "  We  had  a — a  quarrel,  and  I  did  not  wish 
to  stay  any  longer.  It  was  quite  at  the  other  side 
of  England,  and  I  was  travelling  all  the  time  from 
the  early  afternoon." 

"  Well,  to  be  sure  !  What  a  shame  !  "  cried  Mrs. 
Strong,  a  ready  partisan. 

"  No,  it  was  not  her  fault.  There  was  a  misunder- 
standing," said  Margery;  and  closed  her  eyes,  falling 
asleep  again  before  Mrs.  Strong  could  put  any  more 
questions. 

It  seemed  a  dreary  business,  when  she  came  back 
the  next  morning  to  the  waking  world  again.  Life 
at  the  farm  without  Denzil  was  very  like  Hamlet 

196 


The  Valley  of  the  Shadow 

without  the  Prince  of  Denmark,  or  a  world  without 
sunshine,  or  bread  made  without  salt :  which  last 
no  one,  having  once  tasted  it,  will  ever  forget.  She 
felt  the  loss  of  him  at  every  turn.  Everything  about 
the  little  farm,  inside  and  out,  recalled  some  memory 
of  him ;  when  she  went  further,  landmarks  of  former 
walks  met  her  wherever  she  turned  her  steps,  or, 
worse  still,  children,  with  whom  he  had  made  friends 
in  his  gay  way,  came  up  to  ask  for  "  the  gentleman." 
The  summer  sun,  gaining  strength  day  by  day,  poured 
down  in  scorching  floods  on  the  village ;  and  Margery 
had  never  liked  hot  weather.  The  storm  and  stress  of 
her  last  day  with  the  Jannaways,  followed  by  the 
long,  exhausting  journey,  seemed  to  have  taken  all 
the  strength  out  of  her,  and  given  her  a  shock  from 
which  she  could  not  recover.  Walking  brought  back 
too  many  memories,  and  wearied  her  beyond  expres- 
sion ;  staying  indoors  meant  sitting  with  her  hands 
before  her,  thinking,  wondering,  fretting.  There  was 
nothing  for  her  to  do  at  all,  except  the  hard  task  of 
passive  waiting;  and  many  days  slipped  by,  and  there 
came  no  news.  She  had  had  the  wit,  in  the  midst  of 
her  tempestuous  departure  from  the  Jannaways,  to 
stop  as  she  passed  through  the  post-town  and  arrange 
for  her  letters  to  be  sent  on  direct  to  her.  It  was  all 
she  could  do.  Now  she  must  just  sit  and  wait  for  the 
letter  that  never  came. 

For  she  had  no  occupation  at  all,  no  books  to  read 
worthy  of  the  name ;  no  letters  to  write ;  no  work  of 
any  sort.  Mrs.  Strong's  piano  was  worse  than  use- 
less, for  its  decrepit  condition  made  it  a  trial  to  any 

197 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

musical  ear  ;  and,  moreover,  the  first  time  that  Margery 
listlessly  touched  the  keys,  they  brought  back  so  vividly 
the  remembrance  of  Denzil's  light-hearted  strumming, 
that  she  shut  and  locked  it  in  a  passion  of  tears  and 
opened  it  no  more.  She  had  never  been  a  girl  who 
cried ;  but  now  the  smallest  thing  brought  the  tears, 
which  annoyed  and  puzzled  her  beyond  measure. 
She  felt  vaguely  and  miserably  ill ;  and  she  had  never 
been  ill  in  her  life,  and  did  not  know  how  to  cope  with 
such  a  condition.  For  the  first  time,  too,  she  learned 
the  meaning  of  insomnia,  and  lay  awake  night  after 
night,  staring  into  the  darkness,  wretched,  frightened, 
uncomprehending.  Meals  became  a  miserable  farce, 
and  were  often  left  nearly  untasted.  Small  wonder  that 
her  cheeks  grew  sunken,  and  her  large  eyes  hollow  and 
black-ringed.  Mrs.  Strong,  seriously  concerned  and 
always  kind,  tried  to  tempt  her  with  dreadful  dishes 
of  would-be  elaborate  food,  from  which  Margery  could 
only  turn  away  with  loathing.  She  hid  the  fact  with 
some  success  by  the  help  of  an  ever-hungry  yard- 
dog,  and  for  awhile  Mrs.  Strong  rejoiced  over  her 
improved  appetite,  and  wonderingly  lamented  that  it 
made  her  look  no  better.  But  one  day,  looking  from 
the  dairy  window,  she  caught  Margery  in  the  full 
fiagrancy  of  her  deceit ;  and  at  that  she  set  down  her 
milk-pan  with  decision,  and  only  waited  for  the  cul- 
prit's return  indoors  before  she  went  firmly  in  search 
of  her. 

Margery  was  sitting  languidly  by  the  window  of  her 
little  sitting-room,  her  head  on  her  hand.  The  remains 
of  her  dinner  were  on  the  table,  cunningly  arranged  to 

108 


The  Valley  of  the  Shadow 

look  as  if  she  herself,  and  not  the  dog,  had  disposed 
of  the  onion-reeking  stew  and  sodden  pancakes.  Mrs. 
Strong,  glancing  carefully  at  it,  shut  the  door  behind 
her  and  entered  upon  her  subject  with  decision. 

"  And  when  do  you  expect  your  good  gentleman 
back,  ma'am  ?  "  she  inquired,  so  abruptly  and  inconse- 
quently  that  it  was  small  marvel  if  Margery  started. 

"  I  don't  quite  know  yet,  Mrs.  Strong,"  she  faltered, 
the  blood  rushing  to  her  face.  "  I — haven't  heard." 
Which  fact,  of  course,  was  equally  well  known  to 
both.  It  was  an  increasing  trial  to  Margery  that 
Mrs.  Strong  must  think  it  so  extraordinary  for  her  to 
have  no  letters.  She  must  wonder.  She  might  even 
— so  unjust  are  those  who  do  not  understand — think 
that  Denzil  was  to  blame. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  he  will  say  to  your  looks 
when  he  does  come  ? "  Mrs.  Strong  took  Margery 
sternly  by  the  arm  and  made  her  go  and  look  in  the 
glass  over  the  mantelpiece.  It  was  a  blurred  and 
spotty  glass,  but  sufficiently  faithful  to  shadow  forth  a 
very  dismal  likeness  of  the  girl  who  had  laughed  at 
it,  with  Denzil  laughing  over  her  shoulder,  four  months 
before. 

"  It  won't  do,  Mrs.  Vane,  my  dear !  "  said  Mrs. 
Strong  forcibly.  "  You  must  remember  that  you've 
someone  else  to  think  of  now,  as  well  as  yourself." 

The  square  face  was  shrewd  as  well  as  kindly. 
Margery,  turning  to  look  at  her,  coloured  even  more 
hotly  than  before. 

"  I — didn't  know  that  you  knew,"  she  said,  in  a  voice 
that  was  hardly  more  than  a  whisper. 

199 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  And  me  a  mother  meself !  "  said  Mrs.  Strong  with 
superb  disdain. 

The  tears,  that  nowadays  she  did  not  know  how  to 
keep  back,  began  to  run  down  Margery's  thin  face. 
A  moment  afterwards  she  found  herself  crying  com- 
fortably on  Mrs.  Strong's  motherly  shoulder,  and  being 
petted  like  a  baby. 

"  There,  there,  my  poor  dear !  You  have  your  cry 
out,  just  for  once,  and  then  don't  cry  any  more ! 
Surely  you're  glad  ?  " 

"  But  I  feel  so  ill !  "  sobbed  Margery  forlornly. 

"  Well,  what  else  did  you  expect  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Strong, 
with  much  commonsense. 

But  more  than  half  the  trouble  was  that  Margery 
had  no  idea  what  to  expect ;  and  Mrs.  Strong,  dis- 
covering this  with  astonishment,  set  about  enlightening 
her  in  a  homely,  sensible  fashion  which  was  most  con- 
soling. For  there  is  no  terror  like  the  terror  of 
ignorance ;  and  Margery,  lying  awake  through  one 
wretched  night  after  another,  had  fancied  and  wondered 
and  shivered  with  fright,  knowing  nothing  and  fear- 
ing everything.  Mrs.  Strong,  indeed,  stood  appalled 
at  her  absolute  ignorance,  and  spoke  with  strong  indig- 
nation of  the  people  who  could  send  a  girl  out  into  the 
world  without  any  knowledge  at  all  of  the  facts  of  life. 

"  They  always  said  that  it  was  not — nice — to  talk 
about  that  sort  of  thing,"  said  Margery,  embarrassed. 

"  Nice  !  "  said  Mrs.  Strong  scathingly.  "  It's  not 
a  question  of  what's  nice.  It's  a  question  of  what's 
real.  Crammed  you  up  with  book-learning,  they  did, 
I've  no  doubt ;  and  much  use  that  is  to  you  at  a  time 

200 


The  Valley  of  the  Shadow 

like  this  !  What  would  have  happened,  I'd  like  to 
know,  if  you  hadn't  me  to  go  to  now  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Margery  sincerely;  and  drank 
in  all  the  information  poured  out  to  her,  intent  and 
serious.  The  pseudo-proprieties  of  the  orphanage  had 
no  existence  for  Mrs.  Strong.  She  spoke  out  straight, 
with  a  plain  simplicity  that,  having  no  false  shame, 
caused  none  :  with  a  plain  reverence,  too,  for  life  and 
the  Giver  of  life,  that  removed  Margery  to  an  infinite 
distance  from  the  sweet  silliness  of  her  girlish  fancies. 
When  she  had  finished,  the  girl's  eyes  were  wet,  but  it 
was  with  happy  tears ;  any  sadness  in  them  came  only 
from  her  intense  longing  for  Denzil. 

"  Thank  you,  Mrs.  Strong.  I  shall  not  forget,"  she 
said  very  softly;  and  went  straight  up  to  her  room 
and  to  her  knees. 

She  had  been  a  coward :  but  she  would  be  a  coward 
no  longer.  The  worst  of  her  trouble,  she  felt  in  her 
new  exaltation,  was  over  already ;  for  now  she  had 
something  to  do,  with  a  purpose  in  it,  and  she  was  no 
longer  afraid.  She  must  walk  ;  she  must  eat ;  she  must 
keep  cheerful  to  the  very  utmost  of  her  powers.  It 
would  surely  be  easy  now  to  ignore  any  feelings  of 
illness,  since  she  knew  that  they  were  no  dreadful 
portents  of  something  vaguely  and  terribly  wrong. 
She  took  a  firm  grip  on  life  again  with  both  hands, 
to  Mrs.  Strong's  admiration  ;  and,  having  laid  out  a 
methodical  daily  path  for  herself,  walked  in  it  steadily 
and  would  not  be  turned  aside.  So  much  time  and 
such  a  distance  she  must  walk ;  so  much  time  she 
must  rest  afterwards.  True,  Mrs.  Strong's  cookery 

201 


The   Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

was  physically  beyond  her,  in  spite  of  heroic  efforts ; 
and  she  was  now  more  than  ever  reluctant  to  hurt  the 
feelings  of  the  kindly  soul,  who — so  odd  a  thing  is 
human  nature — set  no  store  at  all  by  her  truly 
admirable  butter,  but  had  the  highest  opinion  of  her- 
self as  a  chef.  But  even  this  difficulty  Margery  sur- 
mounted in  triumph,  pleading  the  heat  of  the  weather 
as  a  reason  against  hot  food,  and  begging  for  milk  and 
eggs  instead  of  meat,  and  fruit  instead  of  puddings. 
Acting  upon  a  suggestion  of  Mrs.  Strong's,  she  sent  for 
patterns  and  materials,  and  began  to  manufacture 
sundry  small  garments  with  loving  care,  putting 
all  her  heart  into  them,  and  daintier  stitching  than 
she  had  ever  lavished  on  needlework  before,  until 
Mrs.  Strong  exclaimed  with  wondering  admiration  at 
the  results.  And,  with  every  scrap  of  absurd  tiny 
clothing  that  she  put  carefully  away,  Margery  wondered 
if  Denzil  would  be  with  her  before  the  next  was 
finished.  But  no  letter  came,  nor  any  sign  at  all. 

June  ran  its  hot  course,  and  gave  place  to  a  July 
that  was  like  a  furnace ;  and  still  Margery,  persevering, 
bore  up  under  the  heat,  and  took  her  daily  walks, 
and  stitched  away  industriously  in  her  solitary  even- 
ings. But  the  month  that  followed  tried  her  sorely, 
for  it  brought  with  it  torrents  of  rain  and  yet  scarcely 
any  lessening  of  the  heat.  It  seemed  to  sap  her  strength 
at  its  very  roots ;  and,  till  she  had  time  to  sit  and  think 
about  it,  she  had  not  realized  how  far  from  strong  she 
now  was.  She  could  not  sew  all  day  ;  it  was  impossible 
to  keep  up  her  two  daily  walks,  for  a  very  little  walking 
in  the  rain  tired  her  intolerably.  It  frightened  her 

202 


The  Valley  of  the  Shadow 

to  find  how  little  she  was  able  to  do,  and  that  every 
week  made  that  little  less  ;  and,  indeed,  there  was  small 
wonder  that  she  moped  and  grew  nervous,  for  her 
position  was  serious.  Four  months  had  passed  since 
she  and  Denzil  parted ;  in  all  that  time  no  word  had 
come  from  him,  except  the  hasty  scrawl  written  in 
the  train  on  his  way  to  Mentone.  Margery  pondered 
over  the  mystery  through  weary  days  and  sleepless 
nights,  and  could  arrive  at  no  solution  whatever.  She 
fought  wildly  against  the  belief  that  he  was  dead. 
Surely,  surely  in  that  case  some  news  must  have 
reached  her  !  He  could  not  have  been  overtaken  by 
such  sudden,  violent,  fatal  illness,  that  there  had  been 
no  time  to  write  to  her,  or  at  least  send  a  message. 
If  any  accident  had  befallen  him,  there  must  surely 
have  been  some  account  of  it  in  the  paper,  which  she 
read  every  day  from  cover  to  cover :  looking  with  an 
eager  dread,  which  never  met  with  any  response,  for 
some  sort  of  mention  of  his  name. 

She  was  not  the  only  one  who  was  anxious  and 
uneasy,  for  Mrs.  Strong  was  realizing  more  every 
day  the  responsibility  of  her  own  position.  She  could 
see,  of  course,  plainly  enough  that  something  was 
wrong,  but  to  any  probing  questions  Margery  was 
impenetrable.  She  would  not  own  in  words  that  she 
had  any  anxiety  or  trouble  at  all,  though  her  face  told 
its  own  tale.  She  was  utterly  dumb  as  regarded  her 
own  history  or  Denzil's,  and  Mrs.  Strong's  knowledge 
of  them  began  and  ended  with  their  connection  with 
her  as  lodgers.  The  good  woman  had  no  longer  the 
heart  to  ask  any  question  about  Denzil's  return.  It 

203 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

was  too  pitiful  to  see  Margery's  face  quiver  uncon- 
trollably, to  hear  her  shaking  voice  answer  bravely,  as 
if  there  were  nothing  unusual  in  a  young  husband's 
absence  and  silence  for  four  months.  Once  Mrs.  Strong 
ventured  some  very  small  adverse  comment  on  this 
absence  :  never  again  after  she  had  met  Margery's 
indignant,  flashing  eyes,  and  heard  her  imperious  reply. 
But  time  passed  on,  and  the  situation  grew  more  critical. 

"  You'll  be  expecting  one  of  your  own  people — a 
sister,  perhaps — to  stay  with  you  in  December  ?  "  she 
suggested  once,  when  at  her  wits'  end  as  to  what  she 
ought  to  do. 

Margery  was  sewing.  She  went  on  taking  tiny 
stitches  without  a  pause,  and  without  looking  up. 

"  I  have  no  sisters — no  near  relatives  at  all,"  she 
said  quietly.  "  No,  there  will  be  no  one  to  come." 

Mrs.  Strong,  baffled,  had  perforce  to  let  the  matter 
slide.  But  when  the  heat  went  and  an  autumnal 
crispness  crept  into  the  moorland  air,  and  a  glorious 
September  was  about  to  pass  into  October,  her  uneasi- 
ness was  so  great  that  she  felt  bound  to  make  at  least 
one  more  definite  effort. 

"  You  won't  forget,  my  dear,  to  give  me  a  list  of 
those  you  want  written  to — when  there's  any  news  ?  " 

The  question  shocked  Margery  to  a  sudden  sense 
of  the  flight  of  time.  In  her  quiet,  monotonous  life 
the  days  had  grown  to  be  unmarked  things,  that  came 
and  went  without  leaving  any  impression  at  all.  Her 
work  fell  from  her  hands.  For  the  first  time  in  her 
intercourse  with  Mrs.  Strong  there  was  fear  in  her 
voice. 

204 


The  Valley  of  the  Shadow 

"  Oh,  my  husband  will  be  back  long  before — that !  " 
she  said  :  but  with  so  little  conviction  that  Mrs.  Strong 
was  at  last  emboldened  to  press  the  matter. 

"  We  never  know,  my  dear.  These  things  happen 
sometimes  sooner  than  you  expect — specially  with  a 
first.  I'd  feel  happier  if  I  knew  where  to  write." 

The  terror,  that  Margery  had  so  long  kept  per- 
sistently deep  down  in  her  heart,  rose  up  and  gripped 
her  by  the  throat.  She  had  to  make  three  attempts 
before  she  could  speak  at  all. 

"  He  will  be  back — I  am  sure  he  will  be  back  !  "  she 
cried;  and  her  voice  ran  up  to  a  high  note  and  broke 
there.  The  suggestion  of  any  other  possibility  was 
appalling.  In  all  her  trouble,  it  had  never  once  occurred 
to  her  that  Denzil  might  not  return  before  his  child  was 
born.  Any  day  he  would  write,  or  come  himself : 
whereas  December  seemed  a  dim,  far-off  time,  only 
barely  credible  at  all. 

"He  will  be  back!"  she  repeated  hoarsely ;  and, 
looking  suddenly  at  Mrs.  Strong,  saw  in  her  pitying 
face  that  she  did  not  believe  it. 

The  little  scrap  of  elaborate  needlework  had  fallen 
on  the  ground.  Margery  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  and 
smoothed  it  into  precise  and  dainty  folds  with  fingers 
that  did  not  tremble. 

"  I  have  been  indoors  all  day,"  she  said  quite  col- 
lectedly. "  I  am  going  out  now." 

She  fetched  her  hat  and  cloak,  and  took  the  road 
leading  towards  the  Moor — where  she  had  not  had 
strength  to  go  for  many  a  day.  But  now,  once  out 
of  Mrs.  Strong's  sight,  she  walked  fast,  like  one 

205 


The  Real   Mrs.   Holyer 

possessed.  It  seemed  to  her  that  she  would  die  if  she 
had  to  endure  this  dreadful  loneliness  and  ignorance 
any  longer.  For  the  first  time  she  was  allowing  herself 
to  face  the  facts  :  she  knew  nothing  of  Denzil's  where- 
abouts, and  had  no  explanation  of  his  absence,  and 
no  reason  for  knowing  anything  about  his  return. 

She  found  herself  suddenly  laughing  out  loud  as  she 
walked,  and  the  shock  frightened  her  back  to  some 
mastery  over  herself.  If  she  let  her  thoughts  whirl 
in  this  mad,  meaningless  fashion,  she  would  go  out  of 
her  mind.  Her  only  hope,  she  felt  instinctively,  was 
to  fix  on  one  point  and  let  the  others  go. 

Suppose  Denzil  were  dead.  Suppose  the  list  of  pas- 
sengers on  board  the  Campaspe  had  been  incomplete, 
and  his  name  had  been  one  of  those  omitted  ?  In  her 
agony  of  uncertainty  and  suspense,  Margery  fancied 
that  she  would  be  glad  to  know,  without  a  shadow  of 
doubt,  that  that  was  so  ;  certain  knowledge,  however 
dreadful,  could  not  be  so  unbearable  as  this  constant 
strain  of  hope  deferred.  At  intervals  in  her  restless, 
miserable  nights,  she  had  trembled  with  fright  lest 
she  should  die  when  the  baby  was  born.  But,  if  she 
knew  certainly  first  that  Denzil  was  dead  too,  she 
could  wish  for  nothing  better. 

As  she  walked  up  and  up  the  moorland  road,  it  began 
to  seem  suddenly  to  her  bewildered  mind  that  what 
she  was  thinking  about  was  actually  the  case.  If 
only  she  could  see  the  complete  list,  Denzil's  name 
would  be  there.  It  was  there — she  knew  it  for  a  fact. 
If  only  she  could  see  a  list !  The  feverish,  unreasonable 
wish,  having  once  seized  her,  immediately  became 

206 


The  Valley  of  the  Shadow 

intolerable  ;  and  at  the  same  moment  she  found  that 
the  unnatural  strength,  which  had  borne  her  up  so  far, 
was  deserting  her  as  rapidly  as  it  had  come.  She 
sank  down  by  the  side  of  the  road  on  a  bank  of  dry 
heather,  and  tears  poured  down  her  face — tears  of 
hysteria,  fear,  and  weakness,  and  intense  desire  to  see 
that  list  of  the  Campaspe's  victims. 

She  had  met  no  one  in  the  whole  of  her  lonely  walk. 
She  was  too  weary,  and  her  eyes  too  blinded  by  tears, 
to  notice  now  anyone  who  came.  The  sound  of  ap- 
proaching wheels  penetrated  only  dimly  to  her  senses  ; 
she  hardly  realized  the  fact  that  they  had  stopped 
beside  her. 

"  Can  I  give  you  a  lift,  Mrs.  Vane  ?  "  The  speaker 
had  perhaps  been  looking  at  her  critically  for  a  moment 
before  he  said  anything ;  at  any  rate,  he  expressed 
no  surprise  at  finding  her  there,  or  at  her  forlorn  condi- 
tion. Margery,  starting  violently,  looked  up,  and 
the  thought  that  flashed  whimsically  into  her  mind  was 
a  recollection  of  Denzil's  remark  on  the  first  Sunday 
of  their  honeymoon.  "  The  parson  is  an  uncom- 
monly ugly  chap,  but  he  looks  quite  a  decent  sort !  " 

"  Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Kent !  "  she  said  with  un- 
feigned gratitude,  and  found  herself  trembling  all 
over  when  she  had  risen  to  her  feet.  She  could  not 
possibly  have  walked  the  long  distance  back  again. 

He  explained  that  he  had  been  visiting  friends  on 
the  other  side  of  the  Moor,  and  that  they  had  insisted 
on  sending  him  home.  "  And  I  am  glad  of  it  now,  for 
your  sake,"  he  said,  with  a  quick,  brief  smile  which 
lighted  up  his  dark  face  ;  and  then,  being  a  silent 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

man,  said 'nothing  else  at  all.  For  a  few  moments  Mar- 
gery gave  herself  up  to  appreciation  of  the  unusual  and 
welcome  luxury  of  a  carriage  and  pair.  Then,  as  her 
weariness  wore  off  a  little,  the  mad  fancy  of  the 
afternoon  took  possession  of  her  again.  She  turned 
to  him  impetuously. 

"  Will  you  please  tell  me — does  a  newspaper  ever 
make  a  mistake  ?  " 

He  looked  back  at  her,  astonished,  for  an  instant 
half  disposed  to  smile.  But,  meeting  her  eyes,  he 
answered  with  perfect  seriousness  :  "I  am  afraid  so — 
sometimes." 

"  If  a  ship  is  lost,  and  there  is  a  list  of  the  pas- 
sengers," Margery  gasped,  "  might  there  be  a — a 
mistake  ? — a  name  left  out  ?  " 

"  It  is  quite  possible,"  he  replied  quietly. 

"  Could  one  get  another  list — from  anywhere  ?  " 

"  From  the  shipping  agents,  certainly." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Margery  in  a  baffled  manner. 

After  a  moment's  pause  he  added  :  "  If  you  wish  to 
see  such  a  list,  will  you  allow  me  to  write  for  it  ?  " 

Margery  hesitated,  with  a  desperate  loyalty  in  her 
weary  mind ;  but  it  seemed  to  her  that  this  need 
involve  no  betrayal  of  her  secret.  "  Oh,  thank  you  !  " 
she  said.  "  It  would  be  very  kind — I  don't  know 
where  to  write.  But  I  don't  like  to  trouble  you  about 
it." 

He  did  not  waste  words  in  disclaiming  the  trouble. 
He  merely  took  out  a  very  business-like  little  note- 
book, and  put  down  the  line  and  the  ship's  name 
and  the  date.  When  Margery  gave  that  date — so  long 

208 


The  Valley  of  the  Shadow 

ago  now — his  pencil  paused  for  a  second  :  just  long 
enough  to  read,  in  one  glance,  something  of  what  those 
months  of  waiting  had  written  on  the  white  young 
face  beside  him.  But  he  only  said  :  "I  ought  to  have 
an  answer  the  day  after  to-morrow  ;  I  will  let  you  have 
it  at  once."  And  as  he  finished  speaking,  the  carriage 
drew  up  at  the  gate  of  the  farm. 

The  day  after  to-morrow  '.  It  seemed  to  Margery 
as  if  those  few  hours  were  longer  than  all  the  months 
that  had  gone  before.  The  whole  tension  of  her  waiting 
had  concentrated  itself  now  on  this  one  point,  and  she 
was  in  no  state,  mentally  or  physically,  to  reason  with 
herself.  Something  seemed  to  tell  her  that  Denzil  was 
dead.  She  knew  that  she  would  see  his  name  in  the 
list.  In  a  dream  that  came  to  her  in  the  second  of 
those  restless  nights,  she  saw  him  rising  out  of  the  little 
waves  of  a  calm  blue  sea  and  holding  out  his  arms  to 
her,  to  draw  her  down  with  him  to  peace  and  quietness 
deep  below  the  smiling  surface ;  and  she  woke  sobbing 
and  crying  with  a  great  longing.  When  she  had  once 
seen  for  herself  the  assurance  that  he  was  dead,  she 
would  ask  nothing  better  than  to  let  go  her  own  hold 
on  life,  and  slip  quietly  down,  without  regret,  into  the 
Valley  of  the  Shadow. 

The  postman  came  late  to  the  little  moorland  village. 
Margery,  sitting  sewing  at  her  window,  watched  him 
pass  that  morning  with  a  tightening  of  her  throat, 
and  leaned  forward  to  see  if  he  would  take  the  turn 
to  the  Vicarage — though,  of  course,  that  meant  nothing. 
She  put  down  her  work,  and  began  to  walk  feverishly 
about  the  little  room,  clasping  and  unclasping  her 

209  14 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

hands.  How  long  must  she  wait  ?  How  soon  might 
she  hope  that  the  Vicar  would  bring  her  the  news — 
supposing  that  there  was  any  ? 

Five  minutes  later  she  saw  him  coming  towards  the 
farm,  swinging  along  in  his  quick,  purposeful  fashion, 
as  if  his  day  were  full  and  he  could  not  afford  to  waste 
a  moment.  And  Margery  watched  him  with  her  heart 
in  her  eyes,  as  if  he  had  been  an  angel  from  Heaven  : 
supposing  that  angels  ever  appear — and  such  things 
have  been  known — in  the  guise  of  a  square-shouldered, 
stern-faced  parson  in  a  rather  dusty  coat. 

"  The  Vicar  would  like  to  see  you,  ma'am." 

"  Forgive  me  for  interrupting  you  so  early,"  said 
Mr.  Kent,  coming  in  and  shaking  hands  in  an  absolutely 
commonplace  manner.  "  The  letter  that  I  spoke  to 
you  about  came  this  morning,  and  I  thought  you 
would  be  interested  in  seeing  it  at  once.  Mrs.  Strong," 
catching  the  good  woman  as  she  was  retiring,  "  if 
you  can  spare  me  five  minutes,  I  want  to  ask  you  about 
the  people  who  have  just  come  to  the  Mill  Cottage." 

Margery  was  alone  again,  with  the  letter  in  her  hand. 
It  had  not  even  been  opened.  She  had  been  quite 
justified  in  trusting  Mr.  Kent  with  the  poor  little 
shadow  of  her  secret. 

For  a  minute  or  two  she  sat  trembling,  wondering 
if,  after  all,  the  dreadful  blank  of  certainty  would  not 
be  worse  than  all  the  agonies  of  suspense.  Then, 
nerving  herself  to  the  effort,  she  tore  open  the  envelope. 
The  covering  letter  slipped  to  the  ground.  The  list 
was  in  her  hand  :  the  list  that,  night  after  night  in  the 
darkness,  had  been  before  her  weary  eyes  as  it  had 

210 


The  Valley  of  the  Shadow 

appeared  in  the  newspaper.  She  knew  the  look  of  it, 
the  disposition  of  the  names,  so  well.  With  wide  eyes 
of  pain  and  terror  she  looked  down  this  second  list, 
that  was  to  contain  the  name  omitted  in  the  other — the 
only  name  in  the  world  which  meant  anything  to  her. 

"  Harris— Holmes— Hulbert." 

Like  one  in  a  dream,  Margery  read  and  re-read ;  and 
it  was  the  same  list,  word  for  word,  that  had  been  in 
the  paper,  with  no  Holyer  in  it  anywhere. 

For  a  minute  or  two — so  strongly  had  she  brought 
herself  to  believe  in  the  reality  of  her  own  fancy — 
Margery  could  not  trust  her  eyes  :  could  not  believe 
that  all  her  ideas  had  crumbled  into  dust,  that  the 
certainty  for  which  she  had  so  craved  was  as  far  from 
her  as  ever.  She  snatched  up  the  letter  from  the 
floor,  as  if  that  might  be  expected  to  throw  any  light 
on  the  matter;  but  it  contained  only  three  bald  lines 
of  typewritten  politeness.  The  painful  truth  came 
upon  her  like  a  stunning  blow  ;  it  seemed  to  crush  the 
very  life  out  of  her.  She  had  lost  Denzil ;  and  she 
had  no  means  of  finding  him.  She  could  not  hide  the 
horrible  position  from  herself  for  another  moment. 

The  papers  fluttered  unheeded  to  the  ground.  Mar- 
gery sat  crouched  down  in  her  chair,  her  face  in  her 
hands.  A  nervous,  uncontrollable  trembling  took 
possession  of  her,  increasing  until  she  could  not  hold 
herself  still.  She  was  not  crying — her  eyes  felt  dry 
and  hot,  as  if  she  would  never  cry  again ;  but  she  had 
an  unreasonable  desire  to  scream  aloud.  In  that 
moment  of  sheer  horror  she  saw  quite  clearly,  with 
terrified  eyes,  how  very  slender  is  the  barrier  that 

14* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

divides  sanity  from  madness.  The  walls  of  the  little 
room  and  everything  in  it  were  fading  away  from 
her.  She  was  up  on  the  moors  with  Denzil,  in  the 
midst  of  one  of  their  long  walks.  She  could  hear  the 

tinkling  of  the  sheep-bells  quite  close 

Something  soft  and  insistent  was  rubbing  against 
her  hand.  But  all  her  senses  were  in  such  a  whirl 
that  it  was  a  minute  or  two  before  she  looked  up  : 
to  meet  two  large  greenish  eyes,  full  of  concern  and 
perplexity,  set  in  a  furry  tabby  face.  A  white  paw 
was  stretched  out  to  touch  her  tentatively.  A  soft, 
inquiring  mew  conveyed  perplexity,  sympathy  and 
distress  as  plainly  as  cat-voice  could. 

The  homely,  unromantic  appeal  brought  Margery  back 
to  the  world  of  reality  as  nothing  human  could  have 
done.  Before  Mr.  Kent  or  Mrs.  Strong,  her  over- 
wrought nerves  must  have  betrayed  her  into  a  fit  of 
uncontrollable  crying  and  sobbing ;  but  hysteria  seems 
undignified  before  the  uncanny,  serene  inquisitiveness 
of  a  cat.  Margery  put  out  her  hand,  therefore,  and 
said  "Poor  pussy!"  in  a  shaking^  unnatural  voice, 
and  was  oddly  comforted  when  the  furry  head  was 
rubbed  hard  against  her  cold  fingers.  The  visitor 
made  a  sudden  jump  to  her  knee,  and  stood  trampling 
there  with  a  pleased  purring.  Margery  snatched  him 
suddenly  up  in  her  arms  and  held  him  close.  In  the 
cold,  grey  world  that  seemed  all  that  was  left  to  her, 
something  warm  and  living  was  a  curious  comfort. 

"  I  think  he  followed  me,"  said  Mr.  Kent's  voice 
outside,  speaking  to  Mrs.  Strong,  and  Margery  saw 
for  the  first  time  that  her  door  was  standing  ajar, 

212 


The  Valley  of  the  Shadow 

"  I'll  just  see  if  he  is  here.     Oh,  Mrs.  Vane,  Edward 
seems  to  have  introduced  himself !  " 

"  Is  this  Edward  ?  "  said  Margery,  in  a  voice  that 
was  extraordinarily  unlike  her  own. 

"  Edward  Kent — the  finest  cat  in  Devonshire  !  "  said 
Edward's  master.  "  Not  such  a  very  remarkable  cat 

to  look  at,  perhaps "  but  he  made  the  admission 

grudgingly — "  but  a  wonderful  mind  !  " 

He  patted  Edward  hard,  as  one  pats  a  dog. 

"  See — it's  not  every  cat  that  would  stand  that !  " 
he  cried  with  pride.  He  seemed  barely  to  have 
glanced  at  Margery;  but  perhaps,  as  he  stooped  to 
pat  Edward,  he  caught  sight  of  the  papers  that  lay 
scattered  on  the  floor  as  she  had  dropped  them.  His 
rather  stern  face  softened  wonderfully  as  he  talked 
to  the  cat.  For  one  moment  Margery,  looking  at  him, 
had  a  wild  desire  to  tell  him  everything,  and  ask  his 
opinion  and  advice.  It  would  be  such  an  untold 
relief  to  speak  out,  to  share  the  intolerable  burden 
of  her  secret,  to  hear  another  person's  view  of  the 
mystery  of  Denzil's  disappearance ;  and  this,  she 
felt  instinctively,  was  a  man  whom  she  could  trust 
implicitly,  and  whose  verdict  would  be  worth  having. 

"  Well,  we  must  be  going — come,  Edward  !  "  said 
Mr.  Kent,  raising  himself  suddenly.  For  an  instant 
his  deep-set  eyes  shot  one  direct  look  at  Margery. 

"  Can  I  do  anything  else  for  you,  Mrs.  Vane  ?  " 

And  Margery,  looking  straight  back  again,  said 
quietly  :  "  No,  thank  you."  After  all,  her  wavering 
had  only  been  momentary.  She  could  not  be  disloyal 
to  Denzil,  whatever  her  loyalty  might  cost  her. 

213 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

Mr.  Kent  nodded  good-bye  abruptly,  and  went  out, 
with  Edward  trotting  after  him.  Margery  watched 
them  from  the  window :  and  was  glad  that  her  secret 
was  still  her  own. 

"  And  the  fuss  he  do  make  of  that  cat,  ma'am — well, 
there,  it  do  beat  everything  !  "  said  Mrs.  Strong,  coming 
in  to  clear  away  breakfast.  "  Not  much  of  a  talker, 
he  ain't  generally,  the  Vicar ;  but  he  talk  to  that 
dumb  beast  for  all  the  world  as  if  he  was  a  Christian  !  " 

"  He  is  a  handsome  cat,"  said  Margery  rather  faintly. 

"  Not  a  badly  marked  cat,"  said  Mrs.  Strong  in  a 
disparaging  voice.  "  But,  if  you  come  to  handsome, 
ma'am,  you  should  see  the  cat  up  to  Mrs.  Yeo's ! 
Blue  she  is,  with  fur  inches  long,  and  a  tail  like  a 
brush." 

"  I  think  I  like  the  short-haired  ones  the  best.  They 
are  so  much  cleverer,"  said  Margery ;  and  she  bent  to 
pick  up  the  scattered  papers. 

"  Now,  let  me  do  that  for  you,  my  dear,  do  !  "  said 
Mrs.  Strong,  stepping  forward  hastily,  too  late. 
"  Dear,  dear,  ma'am,  when  will  you  think  to  save  your- 
self all  you  can — and  me  in  the  very  room,  too  !  " 

"  You  won't  believe  that  I  am  really  very  strong," 
said  Margery ;  and  she  smiled  so  bravely,  and  withal 
so  pitifully,  that  the  good  woman  for  once  found  words 
fail  her,  and  cleared  the  table  and  left  the  room  in  an 
unwonted  silence,  winking  away  something  suspiciously 
like  tears  from  her  kindly  eyes. 

For  a  little  while  Margery  had  been  a  coward ;  she 
trembled  to  think  how  nearly  she  had  let  her  secret 
— Denzil's  secret— escape  her.  But  now  she  was 

214 


The  Valley  of  the  Shadow 

resolved  never  to  be  a  coward  again.  After  all,  only  one 
day  had  to  be  lived  through  at  a  time.  She  must  go 
on  with  her  trivial  daily  round,  and  think  as  little  as 
possible  of  things  outside  it — not  at  all,  if  she  could 
help  it,  of  the  dreadful,  inexplicable  silence  that  had 
fallen  like  a  veil  between  Denzil  and  herself. 

It  was  not  possible,  of  course  ;  and  so  poor  Margery 
speedily  found,  as  she  walked  with  brave  feet  through 
the  Valley  of  the  Shadow.  She  was  less  and  less 
able  to  occupy  the  long  hours  of  the  weary  days  ;  one 
occupation  after  another  slipped  from  her  failing  fingers, 
and  left  her  more  and  more  time  for  the  thoughts  that 
were  so  unwelcome  and  so  hard  to  fight  off.  It  seemed 
to  Margery,  looking  ahead  with  solemn  eyes,  that 
thus  and  so  must  the  end  of  the  allotted  seventy  years 
come  to  all  who  lived  out  their  time  :  the  burden 
pressing  daily  a  little  heavier,  the  strength  to  bear  it 
growing  daily  a  little  less ;  yesterday's  walk  too  far 
for  to-day's  weary  feet ;  last  week's  task  a  physical 
and  mental  impossibility  to-day.  She  was  no  longer 
afraid  of  dying  when  her  baby  was  born ;  indeed, 
now  she  wished  for  nothing  else.  She  was  so  weary, 
so  unutterably  tired  and  heartsick  ;  so  sure,  now,  that 
Denzil  must  be  dead.  For  hope  had  died  in  her  heart 
by  this  time,  killed  by  the  long  silence  and  the  incom- 
prehensibility of  it  all.  It  seemed  to  her  that  the 
darkest  hour  had  come.  But,  since  Denzil  must  be 
dead,  and  since  she  herself,  as  she  fully  hoped  and 
believed,  was  going  to  die  too,  surely  she  could  muster 
up  strength  to  be  patient  for  the  last  little  bit  of  her 
way  alone. 

215 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

But,  alas  for  Margery  !  it  is  not  the  darkness  of  that 
Valley  which  is  its  greatest  horror.  There  came  days 
on  which  the  hobgoblins  who,  as  an  older  Pilgrim  has 
left  on  record,  inhabit  the  Valley,  whispered  poisonously 
into  her  ears  that  Denzil  had  forgotten  her :  had 
ceased  to  care  for  her  ;  worst  of  all,  echoing  Mrs.  J  anna- 
way's  hard  words,  that  in  some  unimaginable  way 
her  marriage  had  been  no  marriage  at  all.  Then, 
indeed,  she  longed  for  the  past  days  of  mere  darkness, 
when  her  greatest  grief  had  been  the  belief  that  Denzil 
was  dead ;  for  that  seemed  but  a  light  thing  to  bear 
in  comparison  with  these  hideous  suggestions.  There 
were  days  still  when,  remembering  the  Denzil  she 
had  known,  she  was  bitterly  ashamed  of  harbouring 
such  ideas  for  a  moment ;  and  then  back  would  come 
the  deadly  fancies,  stronger  than  her  weakened  powers 
of  resistance,  with  others  even  harder  to  bear,  until 
her  own  imagination  was  a  terror  to  her. 

The  end  of  her  time  of  waiting  came  rather  sooner 
than  she  had  expected  it,  just  as  a  dismal  November 
was  drawing  to  its  close.  For  a  long  time  past  she  had 
made  up  her  mind  that  she  was  going  to  die,  and  she 
was  glad  of  it ;  for  since  she  had  lost  Denzil,  what 
was  there  to  live  for  ?  It  seemed  an  easy  and  pleasant 
thing  just  to  drift  out  of  the  world ;  only  a  cruelty  of 
anyone  to  try  to  call  her  back.  Dimly,  in  a  mist  of 
dreams,  she  heard  the  word  "  rousing "  spoken  by 
someone,  and  then  Mrs.  Strong's  voice  close  to  her  ear, 
broken  with  sobbing,  but  all  kind  and  womanly : 
"  My  dear,  don't  you  want  to  see  your  little  boy  ?  " 

But  Margery  wanted  nothing  but  to  be  let  alone. 
216 


The  Valley  of  the  Shadow 

It  was  cruel  to  bring  her  back  to  a  life  which  she  did 
not  want,  when  she  was  so  contentedly  gliding  away 
from  it.  Her  closed  eyelids  did  not  flutter. 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Vane,  here  is  your  baby  !  " 

The  doctor's  voice  was  louder,  more  insistent,  not 
to  be  trifled  with  ;  but  from  it,  and  his  touch,  Margery 
only  turned  away  her  head  with  a  little  moan.  She 
would  not  let  herself  be  roused.  Nothing  should  bring 
her  back  to  a  world  where  in  the  last  six  months  she 
had  suffered  so  much.  And  yet,  the  next  moment, 
a  third  voice  did  what  neither  of  the  others  had  suc- 
ceeded in  doing  :  an  angry,  ridiculous  voice,  very  weak, 
very  shrill,  protesting  vigorously  against  the  indignity 
of  being  born.  Little,  futile,  clutching  fingers  caught 
at  her  in  a  fierce  clasp,  surprisingly  strong,  and  let 
go  again  purposelessly.  Margery's  eyes  opened  per- 
force upon  a  tiny  face  that  lay  against  her  arm  ;  and 
it  was  so  unlike  any  face  that  she  had  ever  seen  before, 
that  the  shock  brought  her  back  to  life  as  nothing  else 
could  have  done. 

"  Oh,  is  he  all  right  ?  Ought  he  to  look  like  that  ?  " 
she  cried,  weakly  and  anxiously.  But  there  was  quite 
a  new  tone  in  her  voice.  Her  arm  closed  jealously 
round  the  tiny,  shrieking  creature.  Her  eyes,  looking 
up  at  the  doctor,  dared  him  to  say  one  disparaging 
word. 

"  All  right  ?  One  of  the  finest  children  I've  ever 
seen !  "  he  replied,  with  a  heartiness  that  argued  some 
past  anxiety ;  and  to  Mrs.  Strong  he  added,  with  a 
significant  nod :  "  No  more  need  to  trouble.  We 
shall  do  very  well  now  !  " 

217 


CHAPTER    XIII 

SOMETHING    TO    DO 

THE  life  to  which  Margery  had  come  back  so 
reluctantly  was  on  quite  new  lines,  timed, 
regulated  and  tyrannized  over  by  the  baby.  He  was 
a  source  of  continual  astonishment  and  frequent  terror ; 
for  Margery,  as  soon  as  she  was  allowed  to  read,  pro- 
cured a  book  on  the  nurture  of  infants  and  studied 
it  with  profound  attention,  which  occasionally  scared 
her  to  death — for  the  various  information  which  it 
contained  was  all  new  to  her,  and  some  of  it  terrifying 
in  the  extreme.  Thrush  and  Convulsions,  and  other 
nameless  horrors,  seemed  to  threaten  her  baby  at  every 
turn ;  and  had  it  not  been  for  Mrs.  Strong,  who  scouted 
her  ignorance,  laughed  at  her  fears,  and  even  went 
so  far  as  to  think  lightly  of  the  great  work  in  question, 
Margery  would  have  frightened  herself  into  a  very 
slow  convalescence.  It  astonished  her  to  think  how, 
such  a  little  while  before,  she  had  actually  wished  to 
die.  The  very  idea  made  her  tremble,  now  that  this 
new,  inexhaustible  interest  had  come  into  her  life ; 
the  remembrance  that  her  baby  had,  at  least  for  the 
moment,  no  one  in  the  world  but  herself,  made  her 
clasp  him  tightly  to  her  and  watch  over  him,  if  that 
were  possible,  more  untiringly  than  ever. 

218 


Something  to  do 

"  Ought  he  to  be  so  red  ?  "  she  would  inquire  anxiously 
of  Mrs.  Strong. 

"  Bless  him  !  The  red  ones  turn  out  the  finest  com- 
plexions later  on,"  the  good  woman  would  reply 
reassuringly. 

"  But  he  has  such  queer  creases  and  wrinkles !  " 
Margery  would  persist. 

"  You  wait !  and  he'll  be  a  real  beauty !  "  Mrs. 
Strong  would  prophesy  firmly.  But  the  prophecy 
seemed  to  Margery  so  impossible  that  she  was  moved 
after  some  days  of  heart-searching  to  ask :  "  Are 
all  babies  as — as  ugly  as  this,  Mrs.  Strong  ?  Not  that 
I  think  him  ugly,  of  course  !  "  she  added  hastily,  as 
if  in  fear  that  the  sleeping  tiny  thing  by  her  side  might 
overhear  and  be  hurt.  "  But  I  can  imagine  that  per- 
haps other  people  might  think  so  !  " 

"  He  ain't,  so  to  speak,  a  pretty  baby,"  Mrs.  Strong 
replied  judicially,  with  an  eye  on  the  crumpled  red 
face.  "  But  he's  a  fine,  strong,  healthy  boy ;  and 
as  for  beauty,  Mrs.  Vane,  my  dear,  it's  always  said  to 
be  the  ugly  babies  that  turn  out  the  handsomest  later 
on!" 

Accepting  this  answer  with  some  relief,  and  gradually, 
as  she  grew  stronger,  finding  room  in  her  mind  for  an 
occasional  something  else  beside  her  son,  Margery 
began  to  review  her  own  position  critically.  She  was 
a  good  deal  surprised  to  find  that  she  was  expected  to 
stay  in  bed  so  long ;  but  she  was  of  a  patient  nature, 
and  bore  her  imprisonment  with  serenity.  It  was  the 
greatest  comfort  to  find  that  the  dreadful  oppression 
of  head  and  heart  were  completely  gone.  For  very 

219 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

weakness  she  could  not  always  keep  back  tears  of 
longing  for  Denzil ;  but  her  outlook  on  life  was  once 
more  hopeful  and  sane.  He  would  come  back  to  her 
sooner  or  later,  and  all  would  be  explained  in  some 
quite  natural  and  simple  way  which  did  not  happen 
to  have  suggested  itself  to  her.  But  in  the  meantime,, 
as  soon  as  she  was  well  again,  she  must  find  some- 
thing to  do  ;  for  the  money  which  Denzil  had  left 
with  her,  supplemented  by  some  small  stores  of  her 
own,  had  run  very  low  indeed. 

She  astonished  Mrs.  Strong  beyond  measure  one  day 
by  asking  quietly  for  writing  materials — she,  who  in 
all  those  months  had  never  written  a  single  letter.  She 
wrote  now  to  some  half-dozen  of  her  old  school-friends, 
and  the  gist  of  all — most  carefully  thought  out  before- 
hand— was  in  all  cases  the  same :  "  It  is  a  long  while 
since  I  wrote  to  you,  I'm  afraid.  I  was  married  quite 
in  a  hurry,  in  February,"  and  then  a  few  slight  details 
as  to  Denzil  and  his  personal  appearance.  "  My 
husband  was  obliged  to  go  abroad  suddenly  when  we 
had  only  been  married  a  few  weeks,  and  could  not 
take  me  with  him.  I  did  not  feel  inclined  to  write 
letters  then,  just  when  I  was  missing  him  so  much ; 
and  most  of  the  time  since  I  have  been  very  unwell. 
My  little  boy  was  born  a  fortnight  ago,"  and  then  the 
rest  of  the_letter  filled  itself  quite  naturally  with  praises 
of  that  all-important  individual ;  and  the  "  Margery 
Vane"  at  the  end  was  written  perhaps  a  little  larger 
and  clearer  than  the  rest.  She  would  not  worry  her- 
self about  any  further  explanations  that  must  come 
in  the  future,  until  their  time  came. 

220 


Something  to  do 

To  her  old  schoolmistress,  the  head  of  the  Orphanage, 
Margery  added  another  clause.  "  My  husband  is  not 
too  well  off,  and  I  should  be  very  glad  to  find  some 
work  to  do.  Can  you  suggest  anything  ?  I  am  afraid 
Mrs.  Croome  will  give  me  no  reference,  as  she  was 
very  angry  with  me  when  I  left — though,  indeed,  it 
was  not  through  any  fault  of  mine." 

This  correspondence  was  the  work  of  two  or  three 
days,  and  Mrs.  Strong  posted  the  batch  of  letters — 
and  Margery  felt,  with  every  nerve  in  her  racked, 
that  she  must  be  secretly  astonished  to  see  nothing 
amongst  them  for  Denzil.  She  had  had  some  wild 
thought  of  addressing  an  envelope  to  him  at  some 
fictitious  foreign  address,  enclosing  a  blank  sheet  of 
paper  to  save  the  situation ;  but  had  finally  resisted 
the  temptation.  Her  secret  must  be  kept  until  such 
time  as  he  himself  released  her  from  it ;  but  there 
should  be  no  new  deception  of  any  sort  or  kind. 

The  answer  to  all  the  letters  came  quickly,  and 
with  them  a  few  wedding  presents,  which  affected 
Margery  curiously — the  first  she  had  had ;  and  also 
some  trifles  for  the  baby,  which  gave  her  far  more 
genuine  pleasure.  The  letter  from  the  Orphanage  was 
eagerly  looked  for,  and  opened  first  of  all ;  but  her 
face  fell  as  she  read  it.  It  was  very  kind ;  but  it 
expressed  serious  disappointment  that  Mrs.  Croome 
could  not  be  asked  to  speak  for  her.  "  I  will  do  my 
very  best  for  you,"  Miss  Willis  wrote,  "  but  of  course 
you  uijderstand  that  this  is  a  decided  obstacle,  when 
inquiries  are  made  about  your  previous  experience. 
Of  course,  too,  you  will  be  able  to  arrange  for  some 

221 


The   Real   Mrs.   Holyer 

friend  to  take  care  of  the  baby ;  it  would  naturally  be 
quite  impossible  for  you  to  have  it  with  you." 

Arrange  for  some  friend  to  take  the  baby  !  Margery 
read  with  astonishment  and  indignation,  that  slowly 
subsided  into  a  perception  of  the  enormous  gulf  lying 
between  those  who  are  mothers  and  those  who  are 
not.  Her  arm  tightened  round  the  bundle  at  her 
side.  What  an  insult — quite  apart  from  the  absurdity 
of  suggesting  a  separation  between  them  ! — to  refer 
to  that  all-important  person  as  "  it  "  !  Why,  even 
those  rather  pitiable  people  who  possessed  only 
feminine  babies  might  justifiably  be  annoyed ;  while 
hers  was  a  son,  a  man-child.  She  knew  well  enough 
what  an  additional  difficulty  he  must  prove  in  her 
search  for  employment — there  was  no  need  for  Miss 
Willis  to  have  emphasized  that :  but,  as  for  being 
parted  from  him ! 

A  stormy  November  gave  place  to  an  unnaturally 
mild  December,  and  Mrs.  Strong,  with  unspeakable 
pride,  carried  the  baby  out  for  his  first  walk  :  coming 
back  with  wonderful  reports  of  the  astonishing  amount 
of  notice  he  had  taken,  and  the  stupefaction  of  all 
those  who  had  been  vouchsafed  a  glimpse  of  him. 
"  And  if  it  will  only  last  like  this  for  you  to  get  out, 
Mrs.  Vane,  my  dear — and  then  a  little  longer  for  the 
christening  !  "  she  said.  "  Were  you  thinking  of  having 
a  little  party  for  it,  now  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Margery.  The  colour  came  up  in  her 
thin  and  delicate  face  as  she  found  herself  confronted 
with  a  new  complication. 

"  Only  just  the  godparents,  like  ?  "  suggested  Mrs. 
222 


Something  to   do 

Strong^  disappointed,  but  making  the  best  of  the 
matter. 

"I'm  afraid  I  had  not  thought  about  it  at  all,"  said 
Margery;  and  smiled,  though  it  was  something  of  an 
effort. 

She  was  allowed  up  next  day  for  the  first  time,  and 
was  astonished  and  discomfited  to  find  herself  such 
an  arrant  weakling.  Mrs.  Strong's  assurances  that 
she  would  be  walking  h'ke  anyone  else  in  a  fortnight's 
time  seemed  consoling,  but  barely  credible.  But, 
once  upon  her  feet  again,  she  felt  so  strongly  the  urgent 
necessity  of  getting  something  settled,  that  by  sheer 
force  of  will  she  obliged  herself  to  recover  strength 
with  a  surprising  rapidity.  Her  little  store  of  money 
had  by  this  time  dwindled  so  low  that  she  was 
frightened.  Even  with  the  strictest  economy,  it  must 
all  be  gone  in  a  very  few  weeks  more.  So,  though  she 
was  glad  enough  of  Mrs.  Strong's  arm  when  she  was 
pronounced  well  enough  to  go  to  church,  the  very  next 
day  she  only  waited  for  the  good  woman's  back  to  be 
turned  before  she  slipped  out  on  an  errand  of  her  own 
devising.  After  all,  the  Vicarage  was  nearer  than 
the  church;  and  she  was  afraid  to  let  any  more  days 
pass  idly. 

In  spite  of  all  her  resolution,  she  was  flushed  and 
trembling  by  the  time  she  reached  her  destination, 
and  was  glad  enough  to  sit  down  the  moment  she  was 
shown  into  the  Vicar's  study.  It  was  a  rather  grim 
room — but  then  there  were  not  a  few  people  who  con- 
sidered him  a  grim  man.  There  were  books  in  plenty, 
and  scattered  papers  all  over  the  large  writing-table, 

223 


The  Real   Mrs.   Holyer 

as  if  no  sacrilegious  female  hand  was  ever  allowed  to 
touch  it.  It  was  not  a  large  room ;  for  the  Vicarage, 
like  the  living,  was  small.  There  were  no  ornaments 
of  any  sort  about  it — unless  pipes  and  a  tobacco-jar 
come  under  that  head.  There  was  only  one  picture, 
which  hung  over  the  mantelpiece  ;  and  that  represented 
a  modern  town  church  of  extraordinary  ugliness. 

A  tinkling  bell  heralded  the  arrival  of  the  Vicar, 
with  Edward  at  his  heels ;  and  Edward,  after  a  care- 
ful inspection  of  the  hem  of  Margery's  skirt,  sprang 
into  her  lap  as  one  who  cannot  imagine  himself 
unwelcome. 

<(  You  are  honoured.  He  doesn't  go  to  everyone," 
said  Mr.  Kent. 

"  I  like  cats,"  said  Margery.  It  was  a  relief  to  have 
the  formality  of  the  interview  broken.  Her  hands  did 
not  tremble  so  much,  now  that  they  had  Edward's 
soft  fur  to  stroke. 

"  I  wanted  to  ask  you  about  my  baby's  christening," 
she  said.  "  I  would  like  it  to  be  next  Sunday,  please 
— Mrs.  Strong  said  that  the  Children's  Service  was 
the  usual  time " 

"  Certainly.  Will  you  tell  me  the  name  now  ? " 
said  Mr.  Kent.  "  It  saves  any  misunderstanding." 
His  tone  was  as  business-like  as  the  note-book  which 
he  promptly  produced. 

"  Richard  Denzil  Vane,"  said  Margery — a  little 
faintly,  remembering  the  last  time  she  had  heard  those 
three  names. 

Mr.  Kent's  pen  paused  a  moment,  and  he  looked 
at  her. 

224 


Something  to  do 

"  You  wish  your  child  to  be  christened  '  Vane ' — so 
that  he  will  have  the  name  both  as  Christian  and 
surname  ?  " 

"  I  wish  him  to  be  called  Richard  Denzil  Vane,  in 
addition  to  his  surname,"  said  Margery  steadily  :  a 
change  of  phrase  which  Mr.  Kent  accepted  without 
comment. 

"  I  should  not  have  troubled  you  to  see  me,"  said 
Margery,  going  gravely  on  from  point  to  point,  like  a 
child  repeating  a  well-conned  lesson,  "  but  I  wanted 
to  ask  you  something.  I  wish  to  be  godmother  my- 
self, and  my  husband  to  be  godfather " 

Since  she  asked  for  no  opinion,  Mr.  Kent  gave  none  : 
which  is  a  very  rare  virtue. 

"  I — I  am  afraid  it  is  not  likely  that  my  husband 
will  be  here  in  time  for  the  christening,"  said  Margery, 
flushing  and  paling  now  in  the  effort  to  keep  her 
voice  steady.  "  I — I  wondered — you  have  been  so 
kind  to  me — would  you  mind  being  the  other  god- 
father ?  " 

If  the  request  surprised  Mr.  Kent,  he  did  not  show 
it,  or  even  pause  before  his  prompt  answer :  "  Certainly 
I  will,  Mrs.  Vane,  if  you  wish  it." 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  You  are  very  kind  !  "  said  Mar- 
gery, from  her  heart.  For  a  moment  she  hesitated  on 
the  verge  of  some  attempted  explanation  of  her  forlorn 
condition,  which  obliged  her  to  make  such  a  petition 
to  a  comparative  stranger ;  and  then  had  the  wisdom 
to  refrain.  Where  the  whole  truth  must  not  be  told, 
the  half  would  be  likely  to  complicate  rather  than 
simplify  her  position.  Besides,  she  had  with  her  the 

225  15 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

ever-present  fear  of  betraying  Denzil's  secret  by  some 
unguarded  word. 

"  There  is  one  thing  more,"  she  said,  hurrying  on ; 
for,  indeed,  this  was  the  last  and  most  formidable 
object  of  her  visit.  "  I — I  want  to  find  something  to 
do.  If  you  knew  of  anything,  I — I  should  be  very 
grateful." 

"  What  sort  of  thing  ?  "  said  Mr.  Kent. 

"  I  was  a  governess  before  I  was  married,"  Margery 
faltered.  "  I  was  educated  at  the  Binstead  Orphanage, 
and  I — I  have  several  certificates."  She  named  them  : 
quite  an  imposing  list.  "  I  have  written  to  Miss  Willis, 
the  headmistress  there,"  she  hurried  on,  "  and  she 
will  do  her  best  for  me.  But  I  thought  that  you  might 
perhaps  know  of  someone  in  the  neighbourhood  who 
wanted  a  governess — a  visiting  governess.  I  can't  go 
away  from  my  baby,  you  see." 

Mr.  Kent  sat  looking,  not  at  her,  but  at  the  photo- 
graph of  the  ugly  church,  as  some  men  look,  when 
meditating^  at  the  pictures  of  their  sweethearts  or 
wives.  He  was  evidently  thinking,  and  he  sat  per- 
fectly still  to  think,  without  any  tapping  of  fingers  or 
other  movement — which  is  also  a  very  rare  virtue. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  don't  know  of  anyone  who  wants 
a  visiting  governess,"  he  said  at  last.  "  This  is  not  a 
residential  neighbourhood,  you  see." 

"  Please  forgive  me  for  having  troubled  you,"  said 
Margery,  rather  faintly,  and  she  trembled  a  little 
as  she  rose.  "  I  only  thought — if  there  was  any- 
one  " 

"  Sit  down  againj  please,"  said  Mr.   Kent.     "  The 
226 


Something  to  do 

only  thing  that  occurs  to  me  is — probably  not  at  all 
suitable  :  or  what  you  would  like." 

"  Oh,  indeed  I  would  do  anything  that  I  could  !  " 
said  Margery ;  and  her  voice  betrayed  how  important 
the  matter  was  to  her. 

"  It's  only  this :  that  the  schoolmistress  here  is 
resigning  at  Christmas,  and  I  have  not  yet  found  any- 
one to  take  her  place.  But  it  is  not  at  all  the  thing 
for  you  !  "  said  Mr.  Kent,  putting  away  the  suggestion 
almost  as  soon  as  he  had  made  it. 

"  Oh — oh,  do  you  think  I  wouldn't  do  ?  "  faltered 
Margery.  Her  eyes  had  brightened  wonderfully,  and 
then  clouded  with  disappointment.  "  If — if  you  were 
thinking  about  the  sewing  part  of  it,"  she  went  on 
very  timidly,  "  I  really  can  sew  well — we  were  taught 
all  that  sort  of  thing  thoroughly  at  Binstead." 

"  It  wasn't  the  sewing  part,"  said  Mr.  Kent.  "  You 
see — you  are  very  young,  Mrs.  Vane." 

"  I  shall  be  nineteen  on  Sunday,"  said  Margery, 
not  at  all  understanding  the  quick  look  which  he  shot 
at  her  in  answer  from  under  his  thick  black  brows  : 
for,  indeed,  it  seemed  to  her  a  considerable  age,  a 
very  decided  step  from  mere  eighteen. 

Mr.  Kent  did  not  seem  by  any  means  so  much  im- 
pressed as  she  could  have  wished.  He  sat  thinking 
again,  and  his  expression  was  so  unpromising  that  she 
began  to  plead  her  cause  desperately.  "  I  would 
really  do  my  best — I  am  supposed  to  teach  rather 
well.  And  if  I  was  not  a  great  success,  it  would 
only  be  for  quite  a  little  while,  just  till  my  husband 
comes  home !  " 

227  15* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

Mr.  Kent  opened  his  mouth  to  say  finally  that  the 
idea  was  absurd,  and  then  looked  at  Margery  again 
and  did  not  say  it.  He  was  keen-eyed  both  by  nature 
and  training.  He  knew  quite  well  that  the  matter 
was  a  question  of  daily  bread  for  this  child  and  her 
baby.  If  he  had  had  any  other  suggestion  to  make 
of  a  more  suitable  nature,  he  would  have  put  aside 
the  appointment  to  the  village  school  without  more 
ado.  But  he  had  no  other  suggestion  at  all,  and  Mar- 
gery's eyes  were  imploring.  Therefore  he  hesitated — 
and  was  lost. 

"  Remember,  I  can  promise  nothing.  The  matter 
is  not  entirely  in  my  hands,  you  know,"  he  said.  But 
Margery  knew  from  his  voice  that  all  his  influence  was 
going  to  be  exerted  on  her  behalf,  and  she  responded 
eagerly  and  gratefully. 

"  I  am  so  very  much  obliged  to  you,  and  it  has  been 
so  good  of  you  to  give  me  all  this  time 

"  Edward  doesn't  thank  you  for  disturbing  him. 
Good-bye ! "  was  Mr.  Kent's  unromantic  answer. 
But  he  stood  for  a  minute  at  the  window,  watching 
her  go  down  to  the  gate,  noting  how  slowly  and 
weakly  she  walked ;  and,  turning  away,  muttered  to 
himself :  "  Nineteen  / "  in  a  tone  that  might  have 
meant  any  of  half  a  dozen  things. 


228 


CHAPTER  XIV 

TIME   AND  THE  HOUR 

nnHE  baby  was  duly  christened  on  his  mother's 
A  nineteenth  birthday,  and  behaved  so  badly  that 
Margery  was  overwhelmed  with  shame ;  and  even 
Mrs.  Strong,  rallying  for  her  comfort  a  whole  phalanx 
of  proverbs  about  the  necessity  of  tears  during  the 
ceremony,  was  obliged  to  confess  that  the  thing  had 
certainly  been  rather  overdone  this  time.  "  He  do 
cry,  the  dear  !  "  she  said,  taking  the  shrieking,  writh- 
ing, purple-faced  Richard  Denzil  Vane  from  his 
mother  at  the  church  door.  "  But  there  !  it's  a 
comfort  to  know  that  his  lungs  is  all  right !  " 

Such  comfort  as  there  might  be  in  this,  young 
Richard  supplied,  and  continued  to  supply,  without 
stint.  There  surely  never  was  such  an  angry  baby, 
one  so  at  war  with  the  world  and  perpetually  on  the 
look-out  for  insults.  If  he  had  to  wait  one  moment 
for  a  meal,  if  his  bath  was  the  fraction  of  a  degree 
too  hot  or  too  cold,  if  he  was  put  down  at  a  time  when 
it  seemed  good  to  him  to  walk  about — then  he  would 
rend  the  air  with  instant  fierce  shriekings.  The  last 
and  worst  injury  of  all  was  that  he  should  ever  be 
expected  to  sleep  in  his  cradle.  Margery  might,  and 

229 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

did,  stand  over  him  by  the  half-hour  together,  rocking, 
patting,  giving  him  a  finger  to  suck,  until  she  was 
so  stiff  that  it  was  difficult  to  draw  herself  upright 
again  ;  but  let  her  dare  to  go  to  bed  herself,  or  move 
into  the  next  room,  or  do  anything,  in  fact,  except 
dance  attendance  on  his  lordship !  One  moment 
the  cradle  would  contain  a  sleeping  cherub,  with 
peaceful,  fat  face,  and  dimpled  hands  thrown  up  on 
the  pillow ;  the  next  instant,  with  one  indignant 
bounce  and  no  other  warning  at  all,  young  Richard 
was  screaming  out  his  furious  soul,  and  refusing  to  be 
pacified. 

"  It  isn't  as  if  there  was  anything  the  matter  with 
him,"  said  Mrs.  Strong,  perplexed,  and  thoughtfully 
eyeing  the  young  scoundrel,  silent  for  the  moment 
as  he  took  one  of  his  many  meals,  but  cocking  a  watch- 
ful eye  at  his  mother  meanwhile,  to  make  sure  that 
she  had  no  intention  of  defrauding  him  of  a  single 
drop.  "  I  never  see  a  finer  child !  It's  just  sheer 
temper."  And  Margery,  remembering  Denzil's  in- 
variably sunny,  happy  nature,  and  haunted  by  dim 
notions  of  heredity,  would  search  deeply  into  her 
own  faults  and  failings  with  infinite  misgiving.  And 
then  the  delinquent,  as  if  realising  that  he  had  reached 
the  end  of  his  tether,  would  suddenly  stop  crying  to 
give  her  one  of  the  charming,  bright  smiles  that 
vividly  recalled  his  father  ;  and  Margery  would  realise, 
if  her  conviction  had  for  a  moment  faltered,  that  no 
one  else  had  ever  possessed  a  baby  who  could  compare 
for  a  moment  with  her  own. 

Mrs.  Strong,  too,  though  she  had  no  maternal  feeling 
230 


Time  and  the  Hour 

to  bias  her,  was  more  than  devoted  and  forgiving,  and 
never  tired  of  dancing  attendance  on  the  exacting 
young  rascal ;  so  that  Margery  hardly  dared  to  break 
to  her  the  news  that  she  might  very  soon  consider 
herself  free  to  find  new  lodgers.  For  the  Vicar's 
influence  had  proved  successful,  and  Margery  was  to 
take  up  her  new  duties  at  the  end  of  the  Christmas 
holidays.  She  mustered  up  courage  at  last  to  tell 
the  news  to  Mrs.  Strong,  who  was  at  first  overwhelmed 
with  astonishment,  then  gave  vent  to  all  sorts  of 
vigorous  objections,  and  finally,  discovering  that 
the  die  was  cast  and  that  there  was  no  appeal,  melted 
into  dismal  tears  for  the  rest  of  the  day.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  her,  she  sobbed,  that  Margery  would 
think  of  leaving  her  before  her  good  gentleman  re- 
turned :  at  which  Margery,  inwardly  wincing,  con- 
tinued to  smile  bravely.  Mrs.  Strong  confessed  amidst 
her  tears  that  she  had  even  been  tempted  to  wish 
that  his  coming  might  be  long  postponed  :  "  For  what 
I  shall  do  without  you  and  the  blessed  baby,  my  dear, 
is  more  than  I  do  know  !  "  The  blessed  baby  at  that 
juncture,  objecting  to  a  tear  that  fell  on  his  button 
nose,  suddenly  doubled  himself  backwards  in  Mrs. 
Strong's  arms,  and  expressed  his  dissatisfaction  in  a 
series  of  piercing  shrieks.  It  was  perhaps  fortunate, 
as  diverting  the  current  of  her  woe.  But,  by  the  time 
that  he  consented  to  be  pacified — which  was  not  till 
after  his  next  meal — though  her  tears  were  reduced 
to  a  gentle  trickle,  her  opposition  to  the  whole  scheme 
was  no  whit  lessened.  She  did  not  consider  Margery 
suited  to  the  post,  or  the  post  to  Margery.  Finding 

231 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

that  there  was  no  getting  over  the  fact  that  the  appoint- 
ment had  actually  been  made,  she  could  not  see  why 
Margery  should  not  continue  to  make  her  home  at 
the  farm. 

"  But  it  is  too  far  from  the  school,  you  see,"  said 
Margery  gently,  reserving  to  herself  the  still  more 
important  consideration  that  she  could  not  afford  to 
pay  unnecessary  money  for  lodgings  when  there  was 
actually  a  house  attached  to  her  new  position. 

"  Well,  you  can't  live  there  alone,  ma'am  !  "  said 
Mrs.  Strong  indignantly. 

"  Miss  Loomis  does,"  said  Margery. 

"  Miss  Loomis  !  "  Mrs.  Strong  sniffed.  "  When  you 
are  her  age,  my  dear,  you  can  too — if  you  want  to." 

"  I  don't  feel  young,"  said  Margery.  Indeed,  she 
felt  as  if  a  hundred  years  separated  her  from  the  girl 
who  had  met  Denzil  for  the  first  time. 

"  Besides,"  said  Mrs.  Strong,  whose  stock  of  ob- 
jections was  so  large  that  she  had  to  hurry  on  from  one 
to  another,  in  order  to  display  them  all,  "  what  are  you 
going  to  do  with  the  child  while  you're  in  school  ?  " 

"  I  must  have  a  girl  to  help  me,  I  suppose,"  said 
Margery.  She  had  thought  often  enough  for  herself, 
and  with  many  misgivings,  of  that  difficulty. 

"  Girl !  I  don't  take  no  account  of  girls  !  "  said 
Mrs.  Strong,  with  another  sniff.  "  Careless,  idle, 
forgetful  little  hussies — leave  the  precious  pet  to 
scream  his  little  heart  out  when  you're  safe  out  of 
hearing  ;  or  drop  him,  a  lamb,  and  break  his  little 
back,  and  never  tell  you  till  it's  past  mending,  and  him 
a  cripple  for  life  I  " 

232 


Time  and  the  Hour 

At  these  two  appalling  pictures,  the  tears  rushed  to 
Margery's  troubled  eyes. 

"  Oh,  dear  Mrs.  Strong,  don't  make  it  any  harder 
for  me  !  "  she  said  piteously.  "  I  must  do  it — I'll 
tell  you  why.  I've  hardly  any  money  left,  and  I  must 
work  to  keep  myself  and  baby ;  and  this  seems  the  only 
possible  way  1  " 

Mrs.  Strong  was  aghast  to  speechlessness.  Her 
weekly  bills — modest  enough,  in  truth — had  been  so 
promptly  and  ungrudgingly  paid,  and  it  seemed  so 
unnatural  that  "  the  gentry  "  should  ever  be  troubled 
about  money  matters,  that  it  took  her  a  minute  or 
two  to  adjust  her  mind  to  this  new  point  of  view. 
When  she  had  at  last  done  so,  however,  the  result  was 
a  fresh  flood  of  tears,  and  imploring  petitions  that 
Margery  and  the  baby  should  stay  for  ever  and  ever, 
and  put  off  any  question  of  payment  until  some  time 
in  the  dim  future  when  it  should  be  quite  convenient. 
Margery  broke  down  and  cried  a  little,  too,  at  the  good 
woman's  kindness. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Strong,  you  know  quite  well  that  I 
couldn't  do  that ;  and  besides,  even  if  I  could,  you 
couldn't  possibly  find  time  to  take  care  of  baby  when 
I  am  in  school.  I  must  just  try  to  find  some  girl  who 
can  be  trusted ;  and  perhaps  he  will  behave  better 
when  he  is  a  little  older." 

Mrs.  Strong,  seeing  the  hopelessness  of  the  case, 
dried  her  eyes  and  made  a  rapid  volte-face.  With  a 
shaking  voice  she  launched  on  to  a  flood  of  anecdote 
concerning  babies  who,  having  made  night  and  day 
hideous  to  their  friends  for  six  weeks  or  so,  suddenly 

233 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

reformed  and  became  earthly  angels  for  ever  after  : 
"  sleeping  in  their  little  beds,  the  dears,  half  the  day, 
and  never  a  bit  of  trouble  even  when  they  was  awake," 
said  Mrs.  Strong,  walking  the  room  rapidly  with  young 
Richard,  who  was  stating  at  the  full  pitch  of  his 
entirely  satisfactory  lungs  that  he  had  not  been  fed 
for  a  month  or  more.  As  for  finding  a  trustworthy 
girl,  she  took  the  responsibility  of  that  office  upon  her 
own  broad  shoulders,  and  undertook  to  produce  with- 
out fail  a  paragon  in  whom  it  should  be  impossible  to 
find  a  flaw.  She  had  only  been  joking,  like,  when  she 
had  seemed  to  say  that  Margery  would  not  make  a 
success  of  her  new  post ;  of  course,  she  would  be  ad- 
mirable in  every  way,  and  the  children  and  the  whole 
parish  would  be  plunged  in  woe  when  her  good  gentle- 
man returned  to  take  her  away.  The  difficulties 
which  had  crowded  thickly  into  Margery's  mind,  in 
those  night-watches  when  her  tyrant  would  not  allow 
her  to  sleep,  were  all  disposed  of  with  a  wave  of  Mrs. 
Strong's  plump  hand,  as  they  were  anxiously  presented 
to  her,  one  after  another.  Housekeeping  in  general, 
and  cooking  in  particular  ?  Well,  there  was  plenty 
of  time,  before  the  end  of  the  holidays,  for  Margery 
to  learn  all  that  she  needed  to  know  of  that !  Would 
Miss  Loomis  be  likely  to  want  to  take  away  all  her 
house-plenishing  with  her  when  she  left,  or  would 
there  be  a  chance  for  Margery  to  buy  in  cheaply, 
second-hand,  the  little  that  she  would  need  ?  Why, 
of  course,  Miss  Loomis  would  have  no  further  use  for 
her  possessions,  seeing  that  she  was  going  to  live  with 
a  married  sister  ;  she  would  be  only  too  glad  to  dispose 

234 


Time  and  the  Hour 

of  her  goods  for  a  mere  nothing.  And,  by  the  way, 
Mrs.  Strong  herself  had  any  number  of  unnecessary 
things  cluttering  up  the  house,  which  it  would  be  a 
positive  kindness  for  Margery  to  take  away  with  her  ; 
but  that  suggestion  Margery  put  aside  at  once,  very 
gently,  but  with  decision.  She  was  grateful  enough, 
in  all  conscience,  for  Mrs.  Strong's  manifold  kindnesses  ; 
but  she  was  proud  too,  and  it  did  not  seem  fitting  to 
her  that  Denzil's  wife  and  child  should  accept  absolute 
charity.  They  would  need  so  very  little  for  the 
short  time  until  he  should  come  back  to  them,  and 
what  they  could  not  pay  for  they  must  do  without. 

She  knew,  however,  that  her  funds  had  dwindled  so 
very  low  that  it  was  a  great  relief  to  learn  from  the 
Vicar — he  had  advised  her  settling  the  matter  with 
him  rather  than  with  Miss  Loomis,  whose  temper  was 
well-known  to  be  rather  awkward — that  so  many 
necessary  things  in  the  little  school-house  went  with 
the  post,  so  that  nothing  had  to  be  paid  for  them.  The 
most  unlikely  things,  some  of  them,  as  even  unsus- 
picious Margery  noted  with  wonder  ;  but  they  merci- 
fully reduced  the  list  of  what  she  had  to  buy  outright 
into  such  narrow  limits,  that  even  her  meagre  purse 
could  just  be  stretched  to  cover  all. 

So  Margery  arranged  all  her  small  affairs — small 
enough  to  the  world  at  large,  though  all-important 
to  herself — with  anxious  care,  and  made  her  flitting 
into  the  pretty  cottage  which  Denzil  had  so  admired. 
She  seemed  to  hear  his  gay  voice  now,  making  more 
than  half  seriously  the  absurd  suggestion  that  they 
should  settle  down  for  life  in  the  village,  and  bribe  the 

235 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

schoolmistress  to  turn  out  of  her  abode  because  it 
was  so  particularly  charming.  He  had  actually  sallied 
forth  one  morning  to  discuss  the  matter  with  her  ; 
returning,  somewhat  discomfited,  to  relate  that  the 
old  lady  was  smacking  a  small  child  when  he  arrived, 
and  looked  so  formidable  that  he  had  not  dared  to 
do  more  than  comment  meekly  on  the  weather,  have 
his  head  snapped  off  for  his  pains,  and  beat  a  hasty 
retreat.  Margery  found  herself  laughing  almost  aloud 
over  the  sudden  memory ;  and  then  thought  how 
astonished  and  charmed  he  would  be  when  he  re- 
turned, to  find  her  actually  living  in  the  pretty  cottage 
that  had  so  taken  his  idle  fancy.  It  was  not  quite  so 
pretty,  of  course,  in  the  winter ;  but  when  spring 
came  again,  and  the  honeysuckle  began  to  creep  all 
over  the  porch — but,  of  course,  it  was  absurd  to 
think  that  his  coming  would  be  delayed  as  long  as 
that. 

The  January  snows  came,  and  the  school-term  began, 
and  Margery,  inwardly  very  shy  and  outwardly  very 
stiff  and  cold,  took  the  first  plunge  into  her  new  life  ; 
and  found  it,  after  the  first  gasp  of  alarm  was  over, 
not  at  all  unpleasant.  The  February  rains  came, 
and  the  winds  of  March,  and  flowers  were  peeping  up 
alluringly  all  over  her  tiny  garden.  And,  finally, 
summer  came  in  earnest,  and  the  honeysuckle  was 
in  full  flower ;  but  Denzil  never  came  back  to  see  it. 

The  novelty  over,  Margery's  life  settled  into  a  quiet, 
monotonous  round,  by  no  means  unhappy  or  void  of 
interest.  She  was  too  good  a  teacher  not  to  throw 
herself  whole-heartedly  and  with  enjoyment  into  her 

236 


Time  and  the  Hour 

work;  and  outside  that  her  boy  was  all-sufficient. 
She  learned,  in  fact,  far  more  than  she  ever  taught. 
She  learned  to  forget  that  she  was  naturally  a  some- 
what silent  person,  because  the  baby  liked  to  be  talked 
to,  and  would  lie  staring  up  at  her  with  solemn,  round 
eyes  by  the  half-hour  together  while  she  prattled  to 
him.  She  learned  how  many  things  it  is  possible  to 
do  with  a  baby  on  one's  arm.  She  learned  the  fallacy 
of  the  proverb  which  tells  us  that  it  is  impossible  to 
do  two  things  at  once  :  finding  that  the  mother  who 
cannot  do  that  successfully  must  leave  half  her  work 
undone,  and  that,  with  a  little  practice,  it  is  quite 
possible  to  do  three  things  simultaneously  and  do 
them  all  well.  Her  excitements  were  the  various 
stages  of  the  baby's  progress  :  his  first  tooth  ;  the 
amazing,  incredible  wonder  of  the  day  when  he  suddenly, 
sitting  on  the  floor,  laid  hold  of  a  chair  beside  him, 
and  pulled  himself  upright  on  his  feet  for  a  brief  two 
seconds  before  a  thunderous  downfall.  With  every 
successive  stage  Margery  longed  afresh  for  Denzil ; 
and  if  each  time  the  longing  became  a  little  fainter 
and  her  loneliness  a  little  less  hard  to  bear,  she  never 
knew  it.  She  was  growing  accustomed  to  her  solitary, 
widowed  life,  which,  at  least,  had  this  in  its  favour, 
that  she  was  spared  the  clashing  that  sometimes  arises 
between  the  claims  of  husband  and  child  ;  and  the 
child  had  become  a  complete  and  all-absorbing  interest 
that  rilled  her  days  and  her  thoughts. 

Mrs.  Strong  had  nobly  redeemed  her  promise  of 
paragon-hunting,  by  the  introduction  into  Margery's 
household  of  one  Esmeralda  Peek :  a  capable,  stolid, 

237 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

well-scrubbed  person  of  fifteen,  the  eldest  of  twelve, 
and  infinitely  better  versed  than  Margery  in  baby- 
lore.  Indeed,  Margery  sat  meekly  at  her  feet  and 
drank  in  information,  when  once  she  had  got  over  the 
initial  alarm  of  seeing  the  all-important  baby  in  any 
hands  but  her  own  or  Mrs.  Strong's.  Esmeralda  took 
kindly  to  him  from  the  first,  in  spite  of  his  scandalous 
behaviour;  and  young  Richard,  rapidly  discerning  in 
his  sharp  baby  mind  that  here  was  a  person  who  could 
not  be  frightened  and  would  not  be  bullied,  had  one 
awful  battle  for  the  mastery — during  which  the  cottage 
resounded  with  his  shrieks,  and  Margery,  frightened 
and  trembling  in  her  schoolroom,  taught  the  wildest 
nonsense — and  then  settled  down  once  for  all  to  be  a 
reasonable  member  of  society. 

"  How  could  you  let  him  scream  so,  Esmeralda  ?  " 
cried  poor  Margery,  flying  to  her  son  the  moment 
that  her  conscience  would  let  her  out  of  school. 

"  It's  the  honly  way,  ma'am,"  said  Esmeralda,  a 
trifle  warm  with  her  tussle,  but  otherwise  stolid  as 
ever.  "  No,  don't  take  him  up,  please — or  I'll  have 
it  all  to  do  over  again.  He's  got  to  lie  in  his  cot,  and 
by  this  time  he  knows  it." 

It  said  much  for  Margery's  strength  of  mind  that 
she  could  restrain  herself  from  snatching  up  the  tear- 
stained,  pitiful  bundle,  very  red  of  countenance,  and 
giving  great  sobs  as  he  slept ;  for  from  very  weariness 
he  had  fallen  perforce  into  an  angry  slumber. 

"  I  didn't  let  him  scream  hon,  ma'am.  Some  does, 
but  I  think  it's  crool,"  said  Esmeralda,  in  considera- 
tion for  the  mother's  natural  weakness.  "  I  took  him 

238 


Time  and  the  Hour 

up  for  a  bit,  and  then  I  put  him  down  again  ;  but  I 
wouldn't  walk  with  him,  and  I  wouldn't  pat  him, 
and  I  wouldn't  rock  him — our  mother  says  you  might 
as  well  be  a  negro  slave  at  one*  if  you  once  give  in 
to  them.  Why,  where  would  tltt  have  been,"  said 
Esmeralda,  warming  to  her  subject,  ''if  she'd  gone  on 
beyaving  that  a-way,  with  th*  twins  and  Albert  Arthur 
and  Rosetta  all  under  her  feet  to  onoe  !  " 
"  He  is  very  small !  "  said  Margery  weakly. 
"  He  haves  to  learn  some  time,  ma'am,"  Esmeralda 
reproved  her.  "  And  our  mother,  she  say  the  younger 
the  better — for  them  and  hus  too  I " 

The  theory  was  so  excellent  that  Margery  could 
find  no  reasonable  argument  against  the  practice ; 
and  was  subsequently  deeply  grateful  to  Esmeralda, 
finding  that  her  tyrant  had  learnt  his  lesson  once  for 
all,  and  thenceforward  would  go  quietly  into  his  cot 
when  desired,  without  more  than  a  slight  protest.  And 
so  she  and  he  settled  down  with  surprising  ease  into 
their  new  life.  For  the  five  working  days  of  her  week 
Esmeralda  came  with  admirable  punctuality  every 
morning  at  half-past  eight,  and  left  with  less  punc- 
tuality— for  she  speedily  came  to  adore  the  baby,  and 
to  regard  the  baby's  mother  with  devotion — at  half- 
past  four.  In  the  intervening  hours,  and  on  Saturdays 
and  Sundays,  Margery  and  her  son  were  well  content 
to  pass  their  time  alone  together.  Let  anyone  who 
complains  of  time  hanging  on  hand  lead  a  monotonous, 
busy  life,  divided  into  three  or  four  set  yearly  portions, 
and  see  how  quickly  it  begins  to  fly.  With  the  months 
punctuated  only  by  term-time  and  holiday-time, 

239 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

summer  treats  and  winter  treats,  Margery  would 
scarcely  have  realized  how  fast  they  went,  but  for 
the  changes  in  her  boy.  For  from  being  merely  "  the 
baby  "  he  grew  to  the  greater  dignity  of  Baby  ;  then, 
again,  outgrowing  that,  he  became  Dickie,  and  then 
Dick.  There  came  a  time  when  Esmeralda  departed, 
loudly  weeping,  to  a  situation  as  full-fledged  nurse- 
maid ;  and  little  Dick  came  importantly  into  school, 
to  take  his  place  in  the  infant  class  under  his  mother's 
eye,  and  Margery,  half  proud,  half  sad,  knew  that 
she  had  lost  her  baby  for  ever.  He  had  grown — 
though  not  in  her  eyes — from  an  ugly  baby  into  an  ugly 
little  boy.  There  was  nothing  at  all  of  his  mother  in 
the  square,  strong  little  face,  with  features  too  marked 
for  his  age,  and  coal-black  hair  and  eyes  and  strongly- 
marked  eyebrows  ;  nothing  of  his  father  except  the 
quick,  bright  smile,  which  came  rather  rarely  to  the 
fierce  little  face,  but  when  it  did  come  was  trans- 
forming. He  did  not  get  on  well  in  school — or,  rather, 
he  got  on  too  well,  for  he  rapidly  proved  to  have  more 
brains  in  his  little  finger  than  the  other  children  had 
in  the  whole  of  their  bodies.  He  learned  to  read  while 
his  contemporaries  were  struggling  vainly  with  the 
alphabet.  The  tasks  that  Margery  set  him  were 
finished  with  incredible  swiftness — and  then  he  was 
like  a  piece  of  quicksilver  among  the  solid,  stolid  little 
yokels  round  him,  and  quite  as  hard  to  control. 
Margery  was  stern  with  him — sterner  than  she  would 
have  been  with  any  other  child,  because  she  was  so 
afraid  of  unduly  favouring  her  own  ;  and  he  accepted 
her  severity  with  no  resentment,  but  rather  with  a 

240 


Time  and  the  Hour 

certain  odd  fierce  dignity  that  seemed  to  understand 
and  appreciate  the  reason  of  it.  He  was  a  child  of  a 
remarkable  self-control,  who  never  cried  for  pain  or 
punishment  :  a  child,  as  Margery  came  to  realize 
with  an  uneasy  pride,  of  quite  unusual  character  and 
intelligence,  which  made  him,  baby  as  he  still  was  in 
years,  already  a  real  companion  to  her.  He  was 
frankly  unpopular  with  his  schoolmates — for  your 
rustic  has  no  taste  for  what  is  unlike  himself — and  of 
this  Margery  was  glad  ;  she  had  no  wish  that  Denzil's 
son  should  grow  up  a  village  boy.  She  kept  a  tenacious 
watch  over  his  accent,  his  manners,  his  occupations, 
that  he  might  be  a  credit  to  the  father  who  had  never 
seen  him.  Her  whole  soul  was  wrapped  up  in  the 
boy ;  and  he  repaid  her  with  devotion.  He  was  fond 
of  Mrs.  Strong,  who  was,  as  ever,  his  slave.  He  had 
a  strong  affection  for  the  Vicar,  and  a  certain  whole- 
some awe  of  him  as  well.  But  no  one  in  the  world 
came  within  leagues  of  his  mother. 

So  the  smooth  months  went  on,  turning  imper- 
ceptibly into  years,  until  there  came  that  summer 
which  is  still  spoken  of  in  the  village  with  bated  breath 
and  paling  cheeks — the  summer  when  the  pestilence 
that  walketh  in  darkness  walked  in  high  noontide  as 
well,  and  swept  off  a  victim  here  and  two  there,  all 
down  the  village  street,  until  there  was  hardly  a 
cottage  left  that  had  not  a  desolate  mother  in  it.  It 
came  so  insidiously,  too — with  just  the  quite  ordinary 
news  that  Leigh's  Tommy  and  little  Doris  Price  had 
the  measles.  Then  a  creeping  rumour,  small  enough 
at  first,  but  in  a  very  short  space  of  time  flying  large 

241  16 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

and  terrible  through  the  village,  that  this  was  no 
ordinary  measles,  a  thing  of  no  account,  but  the 
dreaded  "black"  measles,  hardly  known  to  anyone 
of  the  present  generation  ;  for  the  moorland  village 
lay  high  and  healthy,  and  was  rarely  visited  by 
epidemics.  Once  known  by  its  real  name,  like  the 
evil  spirits  of  legends,  it  showed  itself  in  its  true  colours, 
and  flew  from  house  to  house  with  frightful  rapidity. 
The  doctor  and  the  parish  nurse  worked  night  and 
day ;  the  Vicar  worked  with  them,  prompt,  business- 
like, untiring,  implicitly  obedient  to  their  orders. 
The  schools  were  closed.  Margery,  fortunately  for 
herself,  was  not  nervous,  or  apt  to  go  to  meet  trouble. 
Living  in  the  village  street  as  she  did,  it  was  absurd 
to  try  to  keep  Dick  out  of  it ;  but  she  did  the  best 
she  could  by  taking  him  up  on  the  moors  every  day, 
wet  or  fine,  and  keeping  him  there  till  the  evening. 
Then,  having  put  him  to  bed,  she  would  make  the 
best  of  her  way  to  Mrs.  Strong's  farm,  to  spend  the 
remaining  hours  of  the  day  in  cooking  for  the  sick 
children  and  the  mothers  who  had  no  heart  or  time 
to  cook  for  themselves.  The  great  farmhouse  kitchen 
offered  unlimited  scope,  and  experience  had  taught 
Margery  no  small  amount  of  skill  by  this  time  ;  and 
with  a  little  manoeuvring  it  was  possible  to  confine 
Mrs.  Strong  to  departments  of  the  work  in  which  she 
had  little  or  no  scope  for  her  peculiar  talent  of  making 
good  food  uneatable.  Every  evening,  as  she  set  out 
from  home,  it  seemed  to  Margery  that  another  cottage 
had  its  blinds  drawn  ;  every  evening,  coming  back 
late  and  tired,  the  church  bell  seemed  to  be  tolling 

242 


Time  and  the  Hour 

afresh.  It  was  the  custom  of  the  place  to  ring  the 
old-fashioned  "  nine  tellers"  for  a  man  and  six  for  a 
woman ;  and  the  strokes  that  followed,  telling  the 
age  of  the  last  man-child  or  woman-child  who  had 
fallen  a  victim,  were  so  pitifully  few  that  no  mother- 
heart  could  hear  them  without  a  pang ;  for  the  plague 
took  only  children. 

A  cold  spring  had  just  given  place  to  a  wet  summer. 
The  few  days  that  were  warm  came  moist  and  op- 
pressive, swathed  in  curling  mists,  as  if  the  pestilence 
were  rising  up  from  the  ground  in  visible  form.  The 
weeks  dragged  as  if  they  would  never  end.  Every 
Sunday  the  church  seemed  emptier,  and  more  of  the 
congregation  were  in  mourning  ;  the  churchyard  held 
a  new  row — a  row  and  a  half — two  rows  of  pathetic 
small  mounds.  The  little  village  nurse,  active  and 
capable  as  ever,  grew  very  silent  and  very  thin.  The 
doctor's  eyes  were  heavy  with  want  of  sleep.  The 
Vicar's  stern,  dark  face  seemed  to  grow  more  set  every 
day.  And  then,  as  sudden  as  the  beginning,  came 
the  end.  In  the  week  before  Midsummer  Day  it  was 
whispered  incredulously  from  one  to  another  there 
had  been  no  fresh  cases.  In  the  week  that  followed, 
one,  very  mild.  In  the  week  after  that,  none  again. 
So  there  came  the  time  when  even  the  doctor,  Scotch 
and  cautious,  was  heard  to  admit  that  there  was 
practically  no  more  fear.  "  But  we'll  wait  a  day  or 
two  more  before  we  call  ourselves  out  of  the  wood," 
he  added  hastily. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  after  that,  Margery,  coming 
back  very  late  from  her  evening's  work  at  the  farm, 

243  16* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

heard  as  she  neared  home  a  sound  so  unusual  that 
she  could  hardly  believe  in  it;  but  it  quickened  her 
footsteps  almost  to  a  run — for  Dick,  who  never  cried, 
was  crying.  She  flew  in,  and  up  the  narrow  stairs ; 
and  found  him  flushed,  tossing,  sobbing  in  an  unnatural, 
hysterical  fashion,  which  no  soothing  could  pacify. 
Margery  felt,  with  bitter  self-reproach  at  having  left 
him  for  so  long,  that  he  must  have  been  crying  for  some 
time,  for  his  little  dark  face  was  flushed  and  swollen, 
his  eyes  heavy  and  dull.  He  had  seemed  quite  well 
when  she  put  him  to  bed — a  little  quiet  and  unusually 
ready  to  go,  perhaps.  His  head  was  burning  hot — 
but,  of  course,  he  had  been  crying  for  some  time 

The  terror,  that  is  born  in  mothers  with  the  birth  of 
every  child,  gripped  Margery  suddenly  by  the  throat. 
She  ran  to  the  window.  Mercifully,  there  was  someone 
passing  down  the  street,  late  as  it  was. 

Mr.  Kent,  going  home  weary  and  sad  after  a  visit 
to  one  of  the  desolated  cottages  that  lay  on  the  edge 
of  his  scattered  parish,  was  startled  by  a  flying  figure 
which  caught  him  by  the  arm.  Margery  had  always 
made  a  point  of  most  carefully  observing  the  cere- 
monious distance  between  the  Vicar  and  the  school- 
mistress ;  but  just  now,  if  it  had  been  the  King  who  was 
passing  by,  she  would  have  stood  no  more  on  the  order 
of  her  going. 

"  Mrs.  Vane  !  " 

"  Please  fetch  the  doctor — oh,  as  quickly  as  you 
can !  "  Margery  panted,  with  dry  lips.  "  My  Dick — 
my  Dick—" 

"He  shall  come  at  once,"  said  Mr.  Kent  briefly; 
244 


Time  and  the  Hour 

and  started  off  as  if  he  did  not  know  what  it  was  to  be 
tired. 

It  seemed  to  Margery  an  eternity — it  was,  perhaps, 
twenty  minutes — before  the  doctor  arrived.  His  quick 
professional  glance  took  in  everything  at  once  :  the 
sick  child  ;  the  perfect  order  of  the  cottage  room  ;  the 
marshalled  array  of  nursing  requisites  that  Margery 
had  rapidly  got  together.  He  nodded  appreciatively 
at  that ;  but  his  face  was  very  grave  as  he  turned  to 
the  bed. 

'"'  Is  it ?  "  Margery's  voice  failed  her ;  her  eyes 

were  imploring. 

"  Of  course  it  is."  The  doctor  was  well  known  to 
conceal  a  soft  heart  by  the  help  of  a  somewhat  rough 
tongue.  He  detailed  for  her  quickly  what  she  was  to 
do  and  not  to  do.  "  Nurse  Morrison  shall  come  and 
lend  a  hand  to-morrow,"  he  concluded. 

"  I  want  to  nurse  him  myself  !  "  Margery's  face  was 
mutinous. 

"  You  don't  suppose  she  will  be  able  to  stay  ?  But  she 
knows  what  to  do  and  how  to  do  it  a  good  deal  better 
than  you  do,  you  know.  I'll  look  in  myself  early." 

"  Then  you  think  he  is  very  ill  ?  " 

"  I  don't  try  to  pretend  that  I  think  it  is  going  to 
be  a  slight  case,  Mrs.  Vane,"  said  the  doctor;  and 
nodded  and  went  away,  leaving  Margery  all  alone,  at 
grips  with  Death  for  her  boy. 

Of  the  days  that  followed,  the  less  said  the  better. 
Margery  fought  her  battle  inch  by  inch,  sometimes 
gaining  a  little,  sometimes  losing  a  little.  It  was  the 
worst  case,  the  doctor  owned,  that  had  occurred  in 

245 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

the  whole  of  the  epidemic ;  a  child  less  physically 
strong,  or  less  zealously  tended,  must  have  succumbed 
very  early  in  the  fight.  Night  and  day  Margery  nursed 
him,  seeming  as  if  she  could  not  know  fatigue  ;  accept- 
ing ungratefully,  though  not  ungraciously,  the  nurse's 
help  ;  permitting  the  weeping  Mrs.  Strong  to  sit  in 
the  sick-room  for  half  an  hour  while  Dick  slept — 
but  the  first  sound  from  him  brought  her  flying  in 
from  her  so-called  rest  in  the  next  room. 

"  If  the  boy  dies,  it  will  kill  her,"  said  the  doctor 
to  the  Vicar,  even  more  gruffly  than  usual. 

"The  boy  must  not  die,"  said  the  Vicar;  and  his 
square  face  was  so  set  that  the  doctor  glanced  at 
him  quickly  and  sharply,  and  said  nothing  more. 

Even  his  rough  voice  softened  a  little  to  Margery  as 
the  days  went  by,  but  she  neither  knew  nor  cared. 
He  was  nothing  to  her  but  the  person  who  could  tell 
her  what  to  do  ;  she  lived  only  to  obey  his  orders  with 
absolute  faithfulness.  Dawn,  and  nightfall,  and  dawn 
again,  found  her  at  her  post,  untiring :  till  there  came  a 
day  when  the  doctor,  paying  his  second  visit,  stood 
quite  silently  by  the  child's  bed,  and  then  went  out, 
saying  nothing  at  all. 

"  You  think  he  is  worse  ?  "  said  Margery,  following 
him  downstairs.  Her  voice  was  steady ;  her  face 
seemed  nothing  but  eyes. 

The  doctor  cleared  his  throat  before  answering 
harshly  :  "  How  can  he  be  better  when  he  doesn't 
sleep  ?  " 

"  You  mean  that  if  he  doesn't  sleep  he  will  die  ?  " 
said  Margery;  and  her  voice  was  so  quiet  that  the 

246 


Time  and  the  Hour 

doctor,  who  had  been  looking  anywhere  rather  than 
at  her,  gave  her  one  of  his  sharpest  glances.  The  next 
moment,  with  an  extraordinary  sound  that  was  like 
nothing  articulate,  he  fairly  ran  out  of  the  cottage. 

Margery  went  upstairs  again  to  the  little  darkened 
room  and  the  tossing,  fevered  child,  turning  his  head 
from  one  side  of  the  pillow  to  the  other  in  a  vain 
attempt  to  find  coolness  and  rest.  She  took  up  her 
position  beside  him  in  silence.  Her  heart  seemed 
frozen.  She  could  not  cry ;  she  could  not  pray. 

She  might  have  sat  there  for  hours  or  minutes — 
it  was  all  one  to  her — before  there  was  a  very  gentle 
knock  at  the  cottage  door.  Mrs.  Strong,  who  had  cried 
herself  into  a  heavy  sleep  in  the  next  room,  did  not 
hear.  Margery  slipped  softly  out  of  the  room  and 
downstairs.  Dick  would  not  notice  her  going ;  it 
was  a  long  time  since  he  had  even  known  her. 

"  How  is  he  ?  "  said  the  Vicar,  standing  outside  in 
the  grey  summer  night. 

"  The  doctor  thinks  him  worse,"  said  Margery ; 
and  was  astonished  at  the  calmness  of  her  own 
voice. 

"  Worse  ?  "  Mr.  Kent  looked  up  at  her  quickly. 
In  the  dun  light  she  looked  like  nothing  human,  stand- 
ing on  the  step  above  him,  with  her  white  face  and 
wide  eyes. 

"  If  he  doesn't  sleep,  he  will  die,"  said  Margery 
monotonously ;  and  she  might  have  been  reciting  the 
multiplication  table  in  school  for  all  the  feeling  that 
there  was  in  her  tone.  She  felt  as  if  she  had  been 
repeating  the  phrase  over  and  over  again  for  years. 

247 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"I — am  sorry,"  said  the  Vicar;  and  held  out  his 
hand. 

"  You  had  better .  not  touch  me,"  said  Margery. 
"  I  have  come  straight  down  from  him."  But,  Mr. 
Kent's  hand  being  still  held  out,  she  put  hers  into  it. 
After  all,  the  strong  grip  was  in  some  odd  way  con- 
soling. It  made  her  feel  not  quite  so  alone.  Though 
he  said  little,  she  knew  that  he  cared.  He  had  always 
been  a  kind  friend  to  her.  He  was  fond  of  the  boy ; 
he  had  been  to  ask  after  him  every  day.  It  must 
be  good  to  be  as  strong  as  that — good,  perhaps,  to  be 
anything  rather  than  a  woman. 

"  I  must  go,"  she  said ;  and  slipped  softly  away  again 
like  a  ghost.  But,  curiously,  the  touch  of  that  strong 
and  sympathetic  hand  seemed  to  have  broken  up  all 
her  extraordinary  calm.  She  found  herself  trembling 
as  she  went  upstairs.  Once  in  the  sick-room  again,  her 
tears  came  in  a  flood  ;  she  fell  on  her  knees  by  the  bed, 
and  cried  and  prayed  with  all  her  heart,  in  an  agonised 
silence.  And,  so  kneeling  and  praying  and  crying 
noiselessly,  the  sleep  that  she  had  defied  for  many 
uncounted  hours  suddenly  took  possession  of  her 
without  her  knowledge  ;  and  when  she  woke  with  a 
start,  in  a  panic  of  bewilderment,  the  cool,  bright 
light  of  an  early  summer  morning  was  stealing  in 
through  the  window. 

Margery  sprang  up,  filled  with  self-reproach  and 
terror,  and  stood  silent,  an  icy  fear  gripping  at  her 
heart.  The  boy  was  lying  quite  still,  and  in  the  dim 
light  his  face  looked  very  white.  Margery  hardly 
dared  to  go  near  him ;  but  when  she  did,  the  relief 

248 


Time  and  the  Hour 

was  almost  more  than  she  could  bear,  for  he  was  sleep- 
ing quietly,  and  the  thick  black  hair  over  his  forehead 
was  damp. 

It  was  not  so  long  after  that — absurdly  early  still 
for  anyone  to  be  up  who  need  not — that  Margery,  going 
to  the  window  to  drink  in  the  beauty  of  surely  the 
joyfullest  summer  morning  that  had  ever  dawned, 
saw  a  dark  figure  standing  uncertainly  at  the  cottage 
gate,  looking  up  at  the  windows.  A  man's  razor  is 
a  sure  tell-tale.  The  Vicar  looked  as  if  he  had  not 
slept ;  certainly  he  had  not  shaved. 

Margery  slipped  downstairs  again  to  the  door,  with 
feet  that  were  light  enough  now.  Her  face,  thin  and 
worn  with  watching,  was  lit  with  smiles  ;  her  eyes,  in 
spite  of  the  dark  circles  round  them,  were  very  bright. 
She  looked  a  young  girl  again  as  she  gave  the  glad 
news  :  "  He  is  better — he  is  asleep  !  " 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  said  Mr.  Kent. 

"  He  is  all  I  have  in  the  world  !  "  said  Margery ;  and 
did  not  realize,  till  the  betraying  words  on  her  own 
lips  startled  her,  what  an  acknowledgment  she  had 
made. 


249 


CHAPTER  XV 

MY   LORD   AND   MY   LADY 

THE  doctor  ordered  Margery  and  Dick  to  go  away 
for  change  of  air — quite  as  much  for  her  sake  as 
for  his ;  and  as  soon  as  he  was  strong  enough  to  travel 
they  went  to  the  seaside,  for  the  first  time  in  either 
of  their  lives.  The  doctor  had  recommended  to 
them  a  little  quiet  place  in  South  Devon,  where  child- 
ren, arriving  in  the  morning,  might  go  out  barefooted 
in  the  afternoon,  and  never  resume  shoes  and  stockings, 
except  perhaps  on  Sundays,  till  they  reluctantly  put 
them  on  to  go  home  again  ;  and  if  their  elders  cared 
to  follow  suit  no  one  was  likely  to  be  shocked.  Dick 
grew  fat,  brown,  and  strong  with  wonderful  rapidity ; 
and  Margery,  sitting  on  the  beach,  to  all  appearance 
lazy  enough,  had  her  thoughts  very  busy.  Now  that 
she  was  away  from  the  village  for  the  first  time,  she 
could  look  critically  at  her  life  there  with  unbiassed 
eyes ;  and  she  perceived,  seriously  startled,  that 
though  it  was  an  ideal  place  for  a  baby,  and  well 
enough  for  a  small  child,  there  were  a  thousand  draw- 
backs to  it  for  a  growing  boy.  Dick  was  now  nearly 
five  years  old.  After  Christmas  he  would  be  too  old 
to  stay  any  longer  in  the  infant  school,  but  must  take 

250 


My  Lord  and  My  Lady 

his  place  with  the  boys ;  and  that  prospect  filled  Mar- 
gery with  dismay.  It  was  not  that  she  was  foolish 
enough  to  grudge  losing  him  from  under  her  own 
immediate  oversight,  but  she  knew  quite  well  that  it 
was  not  the  place  for  Denzil's  son.  He  would  be  even 
more  unpopular  with  the  boys  than  he  was  with  the 
babies,  because  of  the  difference  between  himself  and 
them,  that  must  become  increasingly  apparent  as  he 
grew  older ;  but  even  worse  than  that,  to  Margery's 
anxious  mind,  was  the  fear  that  that  difference  might 
lessen,  when  he  was  thrown  entirely  among  the  village 
boys.  As  it  was,  she  had  to  be  continually  on  her 
guard  against  tricks  of  speech  and  manner;  and  that 
task  alone  would  be  rendered  almost  impossible  when 
he  was  away  from  her  for  hours  of  every  day.  Either, 
then,  he  must  get  on  badly  now  and  always  with  his 
schoolmates,  and  suffer  accordingly,  or  he  must  grow 
up  something  more  or  less  like  them ;  and  that  thought 
Margery  could  not  bear.  The  schoolmaster,  too, 
though  an  excellent  and  most  painstaking  person,  and 
very  successful  with  his  present  work,  was  particularly 
unfitted  to  deal  with  such  an  unknown  quantity  as 
Dick,  already  clever  far  beyond  his  years,  and  of  a 
fierce  and  proud  temper. 

The  position  was  illustrated  for  Margery,  if  she 
had  needed  any  illustration,  almost  as  soon  as  they 
arrived.  There  were  other  children  playing  on  the 
beach,  who  eyed  them  for  some  time  with  the  hostile, 
curious  stare  of  the  young  Briton.  But  presently  a 
little  girl,  one  of  the  elders  of  the  party,  edged  over 
in  Dick's  direction,  and  said  with  condescension : 

251 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  Little  boy,  you  may  play  with  us,  if  you  like  !  " 
And  Dick,  shy  and  fierce,  could  only  just  prevail  upon 
himself  to  accept  the  offer ;  yet  long  before  the  end 
of  the  week  he  was,  although  one  of  the  youngest  there, 
the  accredited  leader  of  the  little  party.  It  was  Dick 
— Dick,  who  had  never  seen  the  sea  in  his  life  before — 
who  planned  and  ordered  the  masterly  sand-castle 
that  they  built.  Bigger  boys  were  meekly  obedient  to 
his  commands,  digging  cunning  channels  that  the 
incoming  sea  might  flood  the  moat.  Girls  of  all  ages 
busied  themselves,  according  to  directions,  in  collecting 
various  kinds  of  seaweeds  for  the  adorning  of  the 
edifice.  And  Dick,  having  once  established  his 
authority,  was  by  no  means  inclined  to  hold  himself 
cheap.  He  it  was  who,  being  King  of  the  Castle,  must 
be  the  last  to  jump  from  that  crumbling  triumph 
as  the  sea  swept  over  it.  A  much  bigger  boy,  who 
rashly  attempted  his  own  system  of  digging  in  place 
of  that  ordained  for  all,  was  sharply  called  to  order, 
and  obeyed  without  a  murmur.  One  of  the  girls,  the 
eldest  and  prettiest,  and  well  aware  of  both  facts, 
had  the  temerity  to  kiss  him,  all  unsuspecting ;  and 
Dick,  after  a  moment's  dumb  astonishment  at  the 
outrage,  slapped  her  with  a  will. 

"  Dick  !  "  called  Margery. 

He  came,  obedient  in  a  moment ;  listened  seriously 
to  her  serious  admonition ;  returned  to  his  com- 
panions, and  sought  out  at  once  the  offending  damsel, 
who  sat  weeping  by  herself,  all  forlorn. 

"  I  am  sorry  I  hit  you.  I  am  to  beg  your  pardon. 
Please  hit  me  !  " 

252 


My  Lord  and  My  Lady 

"  I  don't  want  to  1  "  sobbed  the  afflicted  lady. 

Dick  turned  very  red,  but  went  through  with  his 
penance  nobly.  "  If  you  would  rather  kiss  me  again 
instead,"  he  said,  with  a  gulp,  "  you — you  may  !  " 

She  complied,  much  gratified ;  and  Dick,  having 
satisfied  the  demands  of  justice  and  honour,  and  sub- 
mitted in  silence,  turned  his  back  on  her  once  for  all, 
and  never  again  took  the  smallest  notice  of  her. 

Margery  might  smile  in  secret  over  little  incidents 
like  this;  but  there  were  other  things  that  came  as 
sharp  stabs,  and  showed  her  more  clearly  than  before 
what  difficulties  lay  in  front  of  her. 

"  I  like  the  children  here,"  said  Dick,  as  they  left 
the  beach  one  evening.  "  Why  are  there  none  of 
this  sort  at  home  ?  " 

Margery  had  no  answer  to  give.  For  herself,  she 
had  acquiesced  quite  quietly  in  the  want  of  com- 
panions of  her  own  age  and  standing ;  but  it  was 
very  different  for  Dick,  above  all  now  that  his  own 
eyes  were  opening  to  the  lack. 

Another  day :  "  Kenneth  laughed  at  me,"  said 
Dick,  "  when  I  asked  him  if  he  lived  to  Exeter.  He 
says  at  Exeter." 

"  He  was  quite  right ;  and  you  must  say  so  too,"  said 
Margery,  wincing.  It  had  never  struck  her  before 
that  so  many  years  of  hearing  nothing  but  rustic  speech 
might  be  dulling  her  own  ear ;  quite  possibly  she 
herself  was  slipping,  all  unconsciously,  into  the  local 
idioms,  and  was  no  longer  a  safe  guide  for  her  boy. 

There  were,  of  course,  other  mothers  on  the  beach 
besides  herself,  but  she  shrank  from  their  well-meant 

353 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

advances.  Her  secret  had  slept  peacefully  for  so 
long  now  that  she  was  frightened  at  questions,  out- 
spoken or  implied,  which  were  only  intended  to  show 
a  kindly  interest  in  the  quiet  young — "  widow  ?  "  said 
one  lady  tentatively.  And  Margery  answered,  trem- 
bling :  "I  lost  my  husband  more  than  five  years 
ago  "  ;  and  then,  frightened  afresh  at  the  truth  that 
sounded  so  very  like  a  lie,  shrank  back  again  into 
herself,  and  was  glad  when  her  shy  reserve  was  taken 
for  pride  and  stiffness,  and  she  was  let  alone. 

She  would  listen,  though,  from  a  little  distance,  to 
these  other  women  talking  together ;  and  with  a 
growing  surprise  she  realized  the  gulf  that  lay  between 
her  and  them.  Their  talk  was  all  of  servants,  of  their 
own  and  their  children's  ailments,  of  theatres  and 
bridge  and  dressmakers.  Some  of  them,  who  would 
certainly  never  see  the  early  thirties  again,  giggled  and 
chattered  like  schoolgirls.  They  might  have  come 
from  another  planet,  for  ah1  the  likeness  that  there  was 
between  her  point  of  view  and  theirs.  Talking  of  a 
coming  wedding  and  the  bride's  age — twenty-one — 
she  heard  one  older  mother  say  most  emphatically  that 
none  of  her  girls  should  marry  a  day  under  twenty-five  ; 
and  Margery  looked  at  Dick,  and  thought  of  the  past 
five  years  of  her  own  life,  and  marvelled.  She  was 
still  young  enough  to  look  upon  twenty-five  as  a  staid 
and  rather  advanced  age.  Her  eyes  grew  perplexed 
as  she  listened  to  all  this.  Back  in  their  lodgings,  with 
Dick  sound  asleep,  she  would  take  out  a  tiny  box 
that  was  kept  carefully  locked,  and,  looking  at  its 
contents — a  broken  gold  neck-chain  and  a  letter — would 

254 


My  Lord  and   My  Lady 

read  the  letter  again  and  again.  It  was  the  only  one 
that  she  had  ever  had  from  Denzil :  and  it  was  the 
letter  of  a  boy.  Every  time  that  she  looked  at  it,  it 
seemed  to  her  to  grow  younger.  When  Denzil  came 
back — she  caught  herself  up,  with  a  quick  breath,  on 
the  edge  of  saying  "  If  he  comes  back  " — what  would 
he  say  to  the  change  in  her  ?  For  he  had  left  a  girl, 
and  he  must  find  a  woman,  with  hard  experience  behind 
her  to  keep  her  from  ever  being  a  girl  again.  True, 
reason  told  her  that  the  same  years  that  had  left  their 
mark  on  her  must  have  passed  equally  over  Denzil's 
head ;  but  instinct  whispered  that  he  would  be  a  boy, 
and  nothing  but  a  boy,  to  the  end  of  his  life.  She 
could  not  imagine  him  any  older  than  when  she  had 
seen  him  last ;  his  gaiety,  his  charm,  the  sunny,  airy 
fashion  in  which  he  took  everything  that  came,  were 
all  the  gifts  of  youth.  Would  he  be  disappointed  to 
find  a  wife  so  different  from  the  young  girl  whom  he  had 
left  ?  Margery  shut  down  in  her  heart,  with  frightened 
eyes,  a  yet  deeper  whisper — Would  she,  too,  be  dis- 
appointed ? 

For  all  these  reasons,  then — though  the  summer, 
repenting  of  its  earlier  misdemeanours,  was  giving 
a  flawless  August,  and  the  little  seaside  town  was 
charming,  and  it  was,  of  course,  a  constant  joy  to  see 
Dick  so  well  and  strong  again — Margery  was  not  too 
sorry  when  their  month's  holiday  was  over.  She 
would  be  glad  to  be  back  at  work  ;  there  would  be  less 
time  to  worry  over  the  difficulties  that  beset  her  , 
and,  after  all,  she  had  only  to  live  through  one  day 
at  a  time. 

255 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

They  had  had  no  letters  while  they  were  away ;  but 
that  was  not  likely  to  be  a  great  loss,  for  events  in 
the  village  were  few  and  far  between,  and  Margery 
had  no  thought  of  finding  anything  different  from  what 
she  had  left.  It  proved,  however,  that  she  was  mis- 
taken about  this.  Mrs.  Strong,  running  in  within 
half  an  hour  of  their  arrival,  was  so  full  of  an  im- 
portant piece  of  news  that  she  had  hardly  time  for  the 
most  perfunctory  of  questions,  or  even  more  than 
passing  comments  on  Dick's  growth  and  brownness. 
"  Quite  a  man !  "  said  Mrs.  Strong ;  and  then  dashed 
on  into  the  real  subject  of  the  moment :  "  Mrs.  Vane, 
my  dear,  the  Hall's  let  at  last !  " 

It  really  was  an  event  of  magnitude  ;  for  a  village 
is  considerably  affected  when  the  big  house  on  its  out- 
skirts is  empty  for  ten  years  together,  and  even  a 
temporary  tenant  is  better  than  an  absentee  landlord. 

"  When  do  they  come  ?  "  asked  Margery. 

"  Why,  they're  here  ! — all  in  such  a  hurry  as  never 
was  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Strong  triumphantly.  One  of  the 
children  was  delicate,  it  appeared,  and  had  been  ordered 
bracing  country  air  without  delay  ;  and  the  Hall  had 
been  inspected  and  taken,  and  the  new  tenants  had 
moved  in,  all  within  the  space  of  three  weeks. 

"There  are  children,  then?"  said  Margery;  and 
looked  at  her  own  child.  This  was  the  sort  of  com- 
panionship that  she  could  wish  for  him — the  sort 
which  was  his  birthright ;  and  yet  she  knew,  with  a 
quick  pang,  that  the  children  of  the  Hall  were  not 
likely  to  make  a  companion  of  the  schoolmistress'  little 
boy. 

256 


My  Lord  and  My  Lady 

"  Three  little  girls — quite  babies,  like,"  said  Mrs 
Strong ;  which  was  some  small  comfort,  for  that  would 
not  have  suited  Dick  at  all.  And  then  the  good  soul 
flowed  on  with  details  as  to  how  the  new-comers  were 
a  sort  of  cousins  to  Mr.  Kent,  and  how  her  ladyship 
was  not  strong,  and  how  hard  a  bargain  his  lordship 
had  driven  wherever  there  was  a  bargain  to  drive  ; 
until  Margery's  head,  already  tired  with  the  un- 
accustomed journey,  fairly  reeled.  But  her  interests 
were  sufficiently  bound  up  in  the  village  to  make  her 
listen  to  all  with  quite  sincere  curiosity. 

It  was  Dick,  and  not  his  mother,  who  first  saw 
anything  of  the  new  arrivals.  He  came  in  ruffled 
the  next  day  at  dinner-time — for  school  would  begin 
on  Monday,  and  it  was  well  to  spend  every  moment 
beforehand  out  of  doors — to  announce  that  he  had  seen 
"  the  lordship."  The  lordship  had  been  riding  a  very 
fine  bay  horse,  very  fast ;  but,  when  he  saw  Dick, 
he  stopped  and  got  off,  and  asked  him  his  name.  "  He 
took  hold  of  my  chin — so — and  stared  at  me,"  said  Dick, 
much  annoyed. 

"  But  why  did  he  stop  at  all  ?  "  asked  Margery. 
Dick  was  not  given  to  romancing;  but  the  story  cer- 
tainly sounded  improbable,  unless  something  to  account 
for  it  remained  untold. 

"  I  don't  know.  He  did  I "  Dick  persisted  crossly. 
"  And  he  wanted  to  know  where  I  lived,  and  about 
you,  and  about  my  father." 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  Margery  asked,  alarmed. 

"  I  said  who  I  was,  and  who  you  was,  and  that 
father  is  away,"  said  Dick,  who  had  been  brought  up 

257  *7 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

to  pray  every  day,  "  Please,  God,  bless  father,"  like 
any  other  small  boy,  and  had  accepted  that  father's 
absence,  in  the  extraordinary  unquestioning  fashion 
of  a  child,  without  comment.  "  And  the  lordship 
looked  at  me  like  Red  Ridinghood's  wolf  in  the  book ; 
and  I  don't  like  him  one  bit !  " 

The  tale  filled  Margery  with  an  uneasy  wish  to  see 
the  person  who  had  given  such  dire  offence  :  though 
she  hardly  expected  the  sight  of  him  to  be  enlightening, 
since  her  modest  list  of  acquaintances  contained  no 
titles  at  all.  But  in  church  the  next  day,  though  a 
goodly  array  of  servants  filled  the  back  pews  devoted 
to  the  Hall,  in  neither  of  the  front  ones  did  there  appear 
a  lordship  of  any  sort — only  a  dark  lady,  past  her 
first  youth,  with  a  strong,  keen  face  and  penetrating 
dark  eyes.  Margery,  meeting  them  full  on  her  as 
she  glanced  that  way,  felt  attracted  and  yet  oddly 
perturbed.  She  could  fancy  that  she  would  like  to 
know  this  stranger ;  more  than  that,  she  had  a  dis- 
turbing feeling  that  she  actually  did  know  her,  which 
was  absurd.  It  was  not  till  the  Vicar  had  come  in, 
and  the  service  had  begun,  that  the  explanation  dawned 
upon  her.  There  was  a  certain  likeness  between  him 
and  the  new-comer ;  and  Margery  remembered  that 
Mrs.  Strong  had  spoken  of  their  being  cousins. 

She  was  detained  in  church  till  everyone  else  had 
gone  out ;  for  she  sat  with  her  Sunday  School  Class, 
and  one  of  the  children  had  behaved  badly,  and  had 
to  be  kept  back,  to  be  admonished  until  he  melted 
into  penitential  tears.  They  came  out  together, 
hand  in  hand.  The  congregation  had  all  dispersed 

258 


My  Lord  and  My  Lady 

except  the  dark  lady  from  the  Hall,  who  stood  as  if 
waiting,  with  an  impatient  foot  tapping  the  path. 
She  was  as  tall  as  Margery,  and  of  a  fine,  upright  figure. 
She  flashed  another  quick  glance  at  her,  passing,  from 
the  keen  black  eyes,  and  then  turned  quickly  away 
as  the  vestry  door  opened. 

"  Good  morning,  Henry !  "  she  said  in  a  deep,  im- 
perious, abrupt  voice.  "  I  thought  you  were  never 
coming  !  "  And  Margery,  in  some  odd  fashion,  was  per- 
turbed ;  it  seemed  so  extraordinary  and  unexpected 
to  hear  anyone  address  the  Vicar  in  that  tone  and  by 
his  Christian  name. 

"  Who  is  that  ?  "  asked  the  dark  lady,  walking  at 
his  side  down  the  path,  and  looking  at  Margery  on 
in  front. 

"  The  schoolmistress.     Mrs.  Vane." 

"  The  schoolmistress  ?  In  the  village  school  ?  "  cried 
the  dark  lady.  "  Why,  she  walks  like  a  queen  ;  and  she 
carries  her  head  as  if  it  were  a  crown !  " 

Mr.  Kent  said  nothing. 

"  You  must  take  me  to  see  her — to-morrow !  "  his 
cousin  commanded. 

So  the  next  morning,  just  before  school  closed, 
Margery  was  surprised  by  the  entrance  of  the  Vicar, 
and  the  dark  stranger  with  him.  The  school  children 
rose,  and  she  rose  with  them,  as  a  matter  of  course. 

"  Mrs.  Vane — my  cousin,  Lady  Denise  Orma- 
thwaite,"  said  Mr.  Kent.  And  Margery  found  her  hand 
taken  in  a  strong  grip,  more  like  a  man's  than  a 
woman's.  The  black  eyes,  on  a  level  with  her  own, 
were  very  imperious. 

259  17* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  You  were  just  going  to  let  the  children  go.  Well, 
let  them  go — or  they  will  hate  me  !  I  came  to  see  you, 
not  them,"  said  Lady  Denise,  in  her  abrupt  deep  voice  ; 
and  a  quick  flash  of  a  smile  showed  the  fine  white 
teeth  that  were  the  only  beauty  in  her  face. 

There  was  one  of  the  children  whom  Margery, 
mother-like,  would  have  been  very  glad  to  show ;  and 
it  chagrined  her  to  fancy  that  Lady  Denise,  sitting 
down  and  watching  them  file  out,  seemed  to  keep  her 
eyes  purposely  away  from  the  corner  where  the  little 
boys  and  girls  sat.  It  was  something  more  than  fancy, 
indeed ;  for,  when  their  turn  came  last  of  all  and  they 
stood  up  obedient  to  Margery's  signal,  the  visitor 
turned  away  to  the  window,  and  stood  looking  out  till 
they  were  all  gone. 

"  Now,  Henry,  you  can  go  away  and  leave  me  to 
talk  to  Mrs.  Vane,"  she  said,  turning  round  suddenly ; 
and  the  Vicar  obeyed  with  a  surprising  meekness, 
which  disturbed  Margery  very  much. 

"  Do  you  know  that  you  are  very  lucky  in  your 
parson  ? "  said  Lady  Denise,  with  a  sudden  smile 
straight  into  Margery's  eyes.  "  But  I  don't  suppose 
you  know  how  lucky,"  she  went  on,  without  waiting 
for  an  answer.  "  You  don't  know  that  he  gave  the 
best  years  of  his  life  to  a  little  mission  church  in  East 
London,  and  wore  himself  out  there,  with  no  one  to 
help  him,  till  he  had  a  hopeless  breakdown,  and  the 
doctor  told  him  that  one  more  year  of  it  would  kill 
him  outright.  A  good  many  men  would  think  the 
Moor  a  good  exchange  for  slums  and  mean  streets ; 
but  Henry  has  been  eating  his  heart  opt  here  ever 

260 


My  Lord  and  My  Lady 

since,  hoping  to  be  allowed  to  go  back — but  he  never 
will.     I  know  his  doctor ;  and  I  know  what  he  thinks." 

Margery  listened  with  large  sympathetic  eyes.  She 
had  never  thought  of  Mr.  Kent  as  connected  with  any 
other  place  but  the  village ;  he  worked  there  so 
steadily  and  untiringly,  with  such  a  whole-hearted 
interest  in  everything  connected  with  the  place.  She 
remembered,  though,  the  photograph  of  the  ugly 
church  over  his  study  mantelpiece. 

"  I  am  very  proud  of  my  cousin,"  said  Lady  Denise. 
"  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  is  rather  a  new  acquisition. 
He  is  a  distant  cousin,  and  we  have  not  known  each 
other  very  long.  We  met  by  accident,  though  my 
home  is  only  eight  miles  away.  " 

"  But  I  thought  you  were  living  at  the  Hall  ?  "  said 
Margery  in  surprise. 

Lady  Denise  made  a  sudden  grimace. 

"  No — thank  you  !  "  she  said.  "  I'm  staying  there 
for  a  few  days — a  duty  visit.  Unluckily,  all  one's 
relations  are  not  equally  congenial.  I  saw  you  in 
church  yesterday,  and  thought  I  should  like  to  know 
you.  I'm  going  home  to-morrow ;  but  I  shall  ride 
over  and  see  you  again,  if  you  will  let  me." 

Margery  flushed  with  pleasure.  She  had  not 
realized  how  much  she  wanted  a  friend  of  more  or 
less  her  own  age  and  standing ;  and,  though  Lady 
Denise  was  perhaps  ten  years  older  and  a  "  ladyship  " 
to  boot,  she  felt  very  strongly  attracted  to  her. 

"  It  would  be  very  kind.  I  should  like  it  very 
much  indeed,"  she  said.  "  And  I  want  you  to  see  my 
little  boy." 

261 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  No,  don't  show  me  your  little  boy — I  hate  little 
boys !  "  said  Lady  Denise,  in  a  voice  that  was  sud- 
denly sharp  and  harsh.  "  Don't  think  me  a  brute," 
she  added  hastily,  seeing  Margery's  face.  "  I  had 
one  of  my  own — he  died  of  cholera  when  he  was  five 
years  old." 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry  !  "  whispered  Margery,  with  sudden 
tears  pricking  into  her  eyes.  She  caught  her  breath, 
with  a  dreadful  vision  of  what  life  must  be,  wanting 
a  Dick,  to  anyone  who  had  once  possessed  such  a 
treasure. 

"  Denise,  you  will  be  late  for  lunch  if  you  don't 
come  away  now,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  coming  in. 

"  And  that  would  never  do  !  "  said  Lady  Denise, 
with  another  grimace.  She  stood  up  at  once,  and  took 
Margery's  hand  again  in  her  strong  grip.  "  Good- 
bye, Mrs.  Vane  !  It  will  not  be  very  long  before  I 
come  to  see  you  again." 

Margery  stood  at  the  window,  watching  them  walk 
away  together,  and  thinking  that  it  must  be  very 
pleasant  to  have  cousins  of  one's  own. 

"  I'm  not  particularly  fond  of  my  own  sex,"  said 
Lady  Denise  frankly  to  Mr.  Kent ;  "  but  if  I  were  a 
man,  that  is  the  sort  of  woman  I  should  fall  in  love 
with.  Now,  why  couldn't  Horace  choose  someone 
like  that  ?  " 

Mr.  Kent  said  nothing.  But  Lady  Denise,  watching 
his  face,  caught  herself  up  quickly  and  answered  her 
own  question.  "  Of  course,  to  be  sure,  she  would  not 
have  been  at  all  likely  to  fancy  Horace  !  She  is  very 
young  to  be  a  widow — I  suppose  she  is  a  widow  ?  " 

262 


My  Lord  and  My  Lady 

"  I — believe  not,"  said  Mr.  Kent. 

"  You  believe  not !  "  cried  Lady  Denise  in  surprise, 
with  her  keen  eyes  still  on  his  face.  "  Where  is  her 
husband,  then  ?  " 

"  I  understood  from  Mrs.  Vane  that  he  was  abroad. 
In  fact,  when  she  accepted  her  present  post,  she  said 
that  it  would  be  only  temporary,  until  he  should  come 
home  again." 

"  And  that  is — how  long  ago  ?  " 

"  Nearly  six  years." 

"  Nearly  six  years  !  "  cried  Lady  Denise.  "  Why, 
what  sort  of  man  can  he  be  to  leave  her  like  that  ?  " 

"  I  met  him  once  or  twice  when  they  first  came 
here,"  said  Mr.  Kent  slowly.  "  A  strikingly  handsome 
young  man,  with  very  charming  manners." 

"  I  don't  like  charming  men — think  of  my  Uncle 
Louis  !  "  said  Lady  Denise. 

"  He  seemed  very  much  attached  to  her,"  said  Mr. 
Kent,  more  slowly  still.  "  I  imagined  that  they  were 
quite  newly  married." 

"  And  she  has  never  told  you  where  he  is  all  this 
time  ?  " 

"  She  never  speaks  of  him  at  all." 

"  But  what  an  extraordinary  thing  !  "  cried  Lady 
Denise.  "  How  do  you  account  for  it,  Henry  ?  " 

"  I  don't  account  for  it,"  said  Mr.  Kent. 

The  next  day,  as  Margery  stood  at  her  gate  at  the 
end  of  afternoon  school,  solicitously  watching  a  very 
small  scholar  on  her  way  across  the  road  to  her  home 
directly  opposite,  there  came  blaring  up  the  village 
street  a  very  gorgeous  and  aggressive  motor,  rending 

263 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

the  quiet  air  with  blasts  of  a  particularly  ear-splitting 
nature.  The  little  village  was  too  far  away  from  main 
roads  to  have  any  great  experience  of  such  things,  and 
Margery  watched  with  a  little  anxiety  for  all  the 
children  who  were  on  their  way  home  from  school. 

The  car  came  on  showily,  scattering  the  lawful 
inhabitants  of  the  street  before  it  with  effrontery ;  and 
then  suddenly  gave  an  admirable  illustration  of  the  fall 
that  is  supposed  to  follow  close  on  the  heels  of  pride. 
For,  just  opposite  Margery,  without  the  slightest 
warning,  it  stopped,  and  declined  to  move  another  inch. 
The  chauffeur  got  down  and  performed  mysteries ;  a 
knot  of  interested  villagers  gathered  round,  and  the 
only  occupant  of  the  car,  a  lady  in  a  very  elaborate 
motor-bonnet,  leant  out  to  ask  querulously  what  was 
the  matter,  in  tones,  astonishingly,  not  unfamiliar  to 
Margery.  A  moment  later  their  eyes  met. 

"  Why,  it's  Miss  Lennard ! "  cried  the  fine  lady 
who  had  once  been  Flora  Croome. 

Margery  stepped  out,  tall  and  stately,  through  her 
little  gate.  She  had  no  need  to  fear  the  afternoon 
sun  that  streamed  into  her  face.  The  fine  moorland 
air  and  the  quiet,  peaceful  life  had  given  her  a  clear 
colour  which  had  been  lacking  six  years  ago,  and  she 
had  lost  the  excessive  thinness  that  had  been  her  chief 
defect.  If  her  face  was  sad,  it  had  gained  in  expres- 
sion and  strength  of  character.  Flora's  eyes,  surveying 
her  from  the  shelter  of  an  elaborate  veil,  filled  with 
something  that  was  very  like  astonishment,  and  even 
more  like  envy. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Margery,  smiling. 
264 


My  Lord  and  My  Lady 

"  But  I  am  not  Miss  Lennard  any  more.     I  am  Mrs. 
Vane." 

"Oh!"  said  Flora.  "And  /  am  Lady  Stella- 
combe  !  "  And  her  tone  added  that  here,  at  any  rate, 
she  had  an  immeasurable  advantage.  "  Is  it  all  right 
now,  Parkes  ?  "  she  cried  to  the  chauffeur,  who  had  just 
raised  himself  from  his  grovelling  with  a  very  red  face. 
Then  to  Margery  again  :  "  Do  get  in  and  come  up  to 
the  Hall  with  me  !  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

Margery  fetched  her  hat  and  complied,  nothing 
loath.  This  was  indeed  an  event  in  her  quiet  life. 
She  asked  after  Amabel  and  Cedric,  and  was  astonished, 
with  a  sudden  realization  of  the  flight  of  time,  to  hear 
that  she  was  at  school  in  Paris  and  that  he  was  at 
Eton.  "  Not  getting  on  very  well,"  said  Flora ;  at 
which  Margery  was  sorry,  but  not  surprised. 

"So  I  suppose  you  are  the  village  schoolmistress 
that  my  cousin — Lady  Denise  Ormathwaite,  you 
know — was  talking  so  much  about ! "  said  Flora. 
"  Isn't  it — rather  a  come-down  ?  " 

"  I  like  it  better,"  said  Margery,  with  an  amused 
smile.  She  would  certainly  have  been  very  reluctant 
to  change  her  present  life  for  a  return  to  Canning 
Place.  "  Besides,  you  see,  I  could  not  go  out  as  a 
resident  governess  and  leave  my  little  boy." 

"  Oh — so  you  have  a  little  boy  !  "  Flora  looked 
annoyed.  "  It  seems  to  me  that  everyone  has  a  little 
boy  but  me !  especially  people — like  you — that  it 
doesn't  matter  to  in  the  least.  Even  Denise — she 
might  just  as  well  have  had  a  girl,  for  all  the  difference 
that  it  made  to  her." 

265 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  But  she  lost  hers."  Margery's  voice  trembled  a 
little  with  sympathy. 

"  Oh — did  she  tell  you  so  ?  How  very  odd  of  her  !  " 
said  Flora  with  a  stare.  "  Fancy  talking  about  him 
to  a  perfect  stranger  !  •  Why,  I  don't  remember  her 
ever  mentioning  him  at  all  to  me !  — But  Denise  is 
very  heartless." 

"  Oh,  not  about  that,  I'm  sure !  "  Margery  could 
not  help  exclaiming,  with  a  vivid  recollection  of  Lady 
Denise' s  tone  and  face. 

"  Yes,  quite  !  "  Flora  persisted.  "  Really,  I  might 
be  supposed  to  know  better  than  you,  I  should  think  ! 
Why,  I  remember  once  trying  to  be  nice  to  her  about 
it — just  after  it  happened ;  and  all  she  said  was  :  '  Don't 
talk  to  me  about  India  !  I've  a  grudge  against  the 
country  where  I  left  my  complexion  !  '  Apparently 
she  never  cared  at  all,"  said  Flora  virtuously,  "  that 
she  had  left  her  husband  and  the  baby  there  too  ! — 
Besides,  Denise  never  had  any  complexion  to  lose ; 
so  it  was  silly,  as  well  as  heartless,  to  say  a  thing  like 
that." 

"  She  is  a  widow,  then  ?  "  said  Margery. 

"  Yes.  Her  husband — I  never  saw  him — was  killed 
in  one  of  those  little  frontier  skirmishes.  She  was 
supposed  to  be  very  fond  of  him,"  said  Flora,  in  a 
tone  which  threw  a  strong  doubt  on  the  assertion, 
"  but  she  seems  quite  to  have  got  over  it — she  never 
talks  of  him  either.  Sometimes  I  think  that  she  will 
marry  Henry  Kent — she  likes  him.  Of  course,  it 
would  be  a  very  poor  match  for  her ;  but  then  she  is 
getting  on  for  forty  ;  and,  of  course,  she  is  very  plain." 

266 


My  Lord  and  My  Lady 

Margery  sat  quite  silent ;  and  the  motor  ran  lightly 
on  over  the  dry  lanes,  uphill  and  downhill  and  round 
sharp  corners. 

"  Parkes  doesn't  like  taking  me  out,"  said  Flora, 
"  because  I  won't  let  him  go  fast." 

"  I  thought  we  were  going  fast,"  said  Margery  with 
a  little  effort.  "  But  then  I  have  never  been  in  a 
motor  before." 

"  Really  ?  "  said  Flora,  with  a  little  drawl  and  a 
little  stare.  "  I  can't  bear  motoring  myself ;  it 
shakes  me  to  pieces,  and  frightens  me  out  of  my  life  ! 
I  never  go  out  with  my  husband  at  all,  because  he  will 
go  at  such  a  rate." 

"  But  why  don't  you  drive,  then,  instead  of  motor- 
ing ?  "  said  Margery. 

"  Oh,  nobody  drives  now — why,  we  have  no  horses 
at  all,  except  some  for  my  husband  to  ride  !  "  said 
Flora,  raising  her  pale  eyebrows  with  a  slight  air  of 
surprise.  All  her  emotions  seemed  to  Margery  to  be 
slight ;  but  perhaps  that  was  because  she  had  never 
seen  her  in  conference  with  her  dressmaker. 

"  Do  you  like  the  Hall  ?  "  Margery  asked,  as  they 
turned  into  the  avenue  that  led  up  to  the  very  ugly 
Georgian  mansion. 

"  No,  I  can't  bear  it — I  hate  the  country  !  "  said 
Flora  limply.  "It  is  most  vexatious  and  annoying 
that  we  have  had  to  come  here  for  the  present :  not 
for  long,  I  hope  and  trust !  " 

"  I  was  sorry  to  hear  that  it  was  because  one  of  your 
children  was  not  strong,"  said  Margery. 

"  Oh,  such  nonsense  !  "  cried  Flora.  "  Doctors  love 
267 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

to  order  anything  unpleasant,  you  know.  It  makes 
them  feel  that  they  have  you  in  their  power.  Rosalie 
doesn't  look  the  least  bit  better  for  coming  here  ;  she 
is  naturally  pale,  you  know,  like  Amabel.  I'm  sure 
she'd  have  been  much  better  at  home  than  in  a  place 
like  this,  where  they  have  dreadful  epidemics  of 
measles.  Why,  I  was  scared  out  of  my  senses  when  I 
heard  about  it !  I've  never  had  it,  you  see." 

"  Have  the  children  ?  "  asked  Margery. 

"  I  really  don't  remember — they've  had  several 
things,"  said  Flora  carelessly.  "  But  of  course  it 
doesn't  matter  for  them.  It's  only  for  grown-up 
people  that  it  is  at  all  serious." 

The  motor  drew  up  under  the  wide  colonnaded  porch ; 
and  Flora  got  out  and  led  the  way  in  with  some  show 
of  animation,  glancing  back  at  Margery  to  see  if  she 
were  suitably  impressed.  The  house  was  curiously 
reminiscent  to  Margery  of  Canning  Place — not  because 
there  was  the  least  similarity  between  the  two  buildings, 
but  because  all  the  furniture  and  appointments  gave 
so  strongly  the  impression  that  they  had  been  chosen 
with  a  view  to  showing  their  immense  costliness, 
rather  than  for  either  beauty  or  use.  Flora  led  the 
way  into  a  large,  ugly  drawing-room,  the  central 
one  of  three,  furnished  in  so  strenuously  Empire 
a  fashion  that  there  was  no  comfortable  place  to 
sit  down  anywhere. 

"  I  must  run  away  just  to  make  myself  tidy,"  she 
said.  "  There  are  the  papers — I  won't  be  long." 

The  tidying  process  seemed  to  Margery's  innocent 
mind  quite  unnecessary,  for  Flora  was  so  securely 

268 


My  Lord  and   My  Lady 

veiled  that  not  a  hair  could  stray  from  its  appointed 
place,  and  she  was  obviously  wearing  a  very  elaborate 
afternoon  gown  under  a  loose  cloak,  which  might  have 
been  thrown  aside  without  any  trouble  at  all.  She 
sat  down  obediently,  however,  and  took  up  the  paper  ; 
and  turning,  feminine  fashion,  to  the  front  page,  was 
instantly  startled  by  a  familiar  name  among  the  deaths. 

"  J  ANN  AWAY. — On  the  i  Qth  instant,  Phyllis  Eudora, 
only  child  of  Herbert  Jannaway,  aged  15." 

The  paper  dropped  from  Margery's  hand,  as  a  great 
wave  of  pity  surged  over  her.  The  intervening  five 
years  had  gone  far  to  soften  the  remembrance  of  that 
dreadful  day  when  she  left  her  cousins,  and  of  all  the 
bitter  things  that  Mrs.  Jannaway  had  said  ;  besides, 
she  could  find  nothing  in  her  heart  but  compassion 
for  those  who  had  lost  an  only  child.  And  yet — poor 
little  Phyllis  !  Margery  sat  thinking  sadly  of  the  lessons 
that  had  been  such  a  difficulty  and  trouble,  of  the 
lovely  face  that  meant  nothing  and  never  could  have 
meant  anything.  Perhaps  this  was  hardly  an  end 
to  be  sorry  for.  She  knew,  though,  what  it  must 
mean  to  the  father  and  mother.  She  would  write 
to  them — to  him,  at  least — as  soon  as  she  went  home. 

Flora  came  in  again  just  as  she  had  arrived  at  this 
conclusion ;  and  Margery,  for  all  her  inexperience, 
had  to  notice  that  her  colouring  was  almost  too  ex- 
quisite to  be  natural,  and  certainly  quite  different 
from  what  it  had  been  in  the  motor.  In  some  curious 
way,  it  made  her  look  older  instead  of  younger ;  it 

269 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

called  attention  to  the  dragged  look  about  the  eyes, 
which  was  quite  out  of  keeping  with  that  absurd  baby 
bloom.  Her  flaxen  hair,  which  in  its  great  abundance 
had  been  one  of  her  chief  attractions,  had  grown 
thinner,  and  was  disposed  about  her  head  in  such  an 
artificial  complication  of  curls  and  twists  and  puffs, 
that  the  eye  wearied  in  following  its  intricacies.  Her 
dress  was  elaborately  expensive,  and  she  wore  too 
much  jewellery :  pearl  drops  in  her  ears,  a  long  chain 
set  with  emeralds,  and  a  dozen  rings  on  the  plump, 
white  hands,  which,  for  all  that  a  life  of  idleness  and 
careful  manicuring  could  do  for  them,  would  never 
look  anything  but  hopelessly  plebeian.  She  sat  down 
carefully  on  a  stiff  Empire  settee,  and  put  up  her  feet, 
in  shining,  pointed,  patent  leather  shoes,  with  huge 
paste  buckles  and  four-inch  heels. 

"  You  don't  mind,  do  you  ?  "  she  said  languidly 
to  Margery.  "I'm  not  at  all  strong ;  I  have  to  rest 
all  I  can." 

"  I  am  sorry,"  said  Margery. 

"  Oh,  I  can  do  things  all  right  when  there  is  any- 
thing to  do  !  "  said  Flora,  yawning.  "  What  a  dread- 
ful place  this  is — not  a  soul  to  speak  to  within  miles ! 
I  really  don't  know  how  I  am  going  to  stand  it,  even 
for  a  few  months." 

"  But  your  cousin  lives  only  a  few  miles  off,  she  told 
me,"  suggested  Margery. 

"  Oh — Denise  !  We  aren't  particularly  congenial, 
I'm  afraid ;  in  fact,  Denise  isn't  at  all  a  popular 
person,  you  know,"  said  Flora,  conveying  by  her  tone 
that  her  own  departure  from  London  had  left  four 

270 


My  Lord  and  My  Lady 

millions  of  mourners  behind.     "  You  see,  she's  clever ; 
and  nobody  really  likes  a  clever  woman  !  " 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Margery. 

"It  doesn't  seem  possible  even  to  get  up  bridge  1  " 
cried  Flora.  "  Of  course,  I  can  have  people  to  stay 
here — but  nobody  will  stay  when  they  find  out  what 
a  hateful  place  it  is  !  " 

"  Oh,  it  really  is  beautiful !  "  Margery  protested. 
"  The  Moor  is  lovely  at  all  times  of  the  year ;  and 
the  air  is  perfect " 

"  One  can't  live  on  air,"  said  Flora  pettishly.  "  I 
could  do  without  air,  but  I  must  have  bridge.  Why, 
there's  nothing  else  worth  living  for  !  "  Her  tone  was 
almost  enthusiastic. 

The  point  of  view  was  so  astonishing  to  Margery, 
that  she  found  herself  asking  in  return  if  she  might 
see  the  children.  The  connection  of  ideas  was  quite 
involuntary. 

"  Oh,  certainly,  if  you  want  to  !  But  they  are  only 
babies,  you  know,"  said  Flora,  all  her  animation  gone 
again  at  once.  "  I  really  don't  know  if  they  are 
indoors  or  not.  Do  you  mind  ringing  the  bell — as  you 
are  near  it  ?  " 

Margery,  complying,  was  subsequently  thankful 
that  her  own  modest  walk  in  life  did  not  set  her  in 
authority  over  such  majestic  creatures  as  the  liveried 
and  awe-inspiring  being  who  answered  the  summons. 
Him  Flora  desired  to  find  out  if  the  young  ladies  were 
at  home,  and  in  that  case  to  ask  Nurse  to  bring  them 
down  at  once ;  whereupon  he  withdrew  the  light  of 
his  presence,  and  Margery  breathed  again. 

271 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

There  was  an  interval  of  some  minutes  before  the 
arrival  of  the  children,  and  Flora  filled  it  with  lamenta- 
tions over  the  hardness  of  her  lot.  Nothing,  it  seemed, 
was  quite  as  it  should  be  with  her.  The  housekeeper 
managed  the  servants  badly  :  the  cook  drank — and 
yet  was  too  valuable  to  be  dismissed  ;  her  maid  was 
impertinent — and  yet  also  quite  invaluable.  She 
took  no  interest  at  all  in  Margery's  affairs,  and  asked 
not  one  question  as  to  her  marriage  or  her  husband, 
or  how  she  had  come  to  settle  down  as  a  village  school- 
mistress. She  never  mentioned  her  own  husband  at 
all — except  as  having  been  extremely  annoyed  that 
she  had  not  succeeded  in  presenting  him  with  an  heir. 
"  It  is  hard  luck  !  "  wailed  Flora. 

Margery  suggested,  very  shyly,  that  the  matter  was 
not  even  yet  hopeless.  But  Flora  scouted  that  idea 
at  once. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  want  any  more  !  "  she  cried,  so  ener- 
getically that  her  voice  grew  quite  shrill.  "  If  it  hadn't 
been  for  the  title,  I'd  never  have  wanted  any  at  all 
— well,  perhaps  one,  just  to  dress  prettily  and  look  nice 
in  the  drawing-room  when  one  has  people  to  tea. 
Why,  every  child  takes  a  year  out  of  one's  life,  besides 
all  the  bother  and  expense  and  unpleasantness — and  is 
it  worth  it  ?  " 

Margery  sat  appalled  and  dumb ;  but,  the  door  open- 
ing at  that  moment,  was  saved  the  difficulty  of  an 
answer. 

"  Good  afternoon,  Nurse.  Well,  children !  "  said 
Flora,  turning  a  little  to  cast  a  careless,  appraising 
glance  towards  them  as  they  entered. 

272 


My  Lord  and  My  Lady 

"  Good  afternoon,  mother,"  two  small,  timid  voices 
replied ;  and  the  children  came  up  decorously  to  offer 
a  kiss. 

"  This  is  Rosalie.  This  is  Lilith.  And  the  baby  is 
Hyacinth,"  said  Flora  perfunctorily,  just  touching 
their  cheeks  with  her  lips. 

"  Shall  I  come  back  in  ten  minutes,  my  lady  ?  " 
the  nurse  inquired. 

"  In  five  minutes,"  said  Flora. 

The  baby  was  deposited  on  a  large  down  cushion 
on  the  floor.  The  two  little  girls  sat  down  on  two 
of  the  gilt  chairs  and  remained  there,  quite  quiet, 
perfectly  "  good,"  in  a  way  that  made  Margery's 
heart  ache. 

"  Mayn't  I  take  up  the  baby  ?  "  she  asked  Flora. 

"  Oh — if  you  like  !  "  said  Flora,  surprised.  "  But 
won't  it  spoil  your  dress  ?  " 

Margery  had  the  little  thing  in  her  arms  before  the 
sentence  was  finished  :  a  pale,  flaxen-haired  creature, 
with  a  face  the  colour  of  wax,  and  curious  light  eyes, 
with  the  pupils  scarcely  visible.  It  did  not  turn 
to  her  with  the  instinctive  nestling  movement  of  a 
baby  that  is  used  to  cuddling  ;  but  lay  perfectly  inani- 
mate, merely  staring  up  at  her  without  expression. 
The  children  were  all  three  very  much  alike,  not  at 
all  pretty,  or  childlike,  or  happy-looking.  Margery, 
watching  the  unnatural  decorum  of  their  behaviour, 
and  remembering  the  quicksilver  restlessness  of  her 
own  Dick  in  particular  and  the  small  school -children 
in  general,  felt  a  lump  rising  and  rising  in  her 
throat. 

273  18 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  How  old  are  they  ?  "  she  asked,  for  something  to  say. 

"  Rosalie  was  a  Christmas  baby — she  will  be  four 
next  Christmas.  Lilith  was — actually  ! — only  thirteen 
months  after.  Baby  is — oh,  somewhere  about  a  year. 
I  know  I  couldn't  go  to  Henley,"  said  Flora.  "  You 
see,  I  have  not  had  much  peace  !  " 

Margery  turned  from  her  sharply.  "  Won't  you 
come  and  speak  to  me  ?  "  she  said  to  the  two  little 
girls  on  the  gilt  chairs. 

They  looked  back  at  her ;  looked  at  Flora,  as  if 
for  permission ;  slipped  down  silently  and  timidly,  and 
came  over  to  her.  But  they  would  not  talk.  To  her 
gentle  questions  they  lisped  out  babyish  answers 
that  sounded  afraid.  They  started  when  the  door 
opened  and  their  nurse  came  in  again.  The  younger 
of  the  two,  who  had  grown  sufficiently  bold  to  slide 
her  hand  into  Margery's,  gave  it  a  sudden  frightened 
little  grip. 

"  She's  a  good  baby,  isn't  she  ?  "  said  Flora,  looking 
at  the  little  group  with  a  curious  impersonal  interest, 
as  if  the  children  belonged  to  someone  else. 

"  Very,"  said  Margery. 

"  But  she  always  is  good.  Isn't  she,  Nurse  ?  "  said 
Flora,  who  seemed  vaguely  aware  of  something  that 
was  not  approval  in  Margery's  attitude. 

"  Always,  my  lady.  You  would  never  know  that 
there  was  a  baby  in  the  nursery,"  was  the  answer. 

"  I  should  think  not,  if  she  is  always  as  quiet  as 
this,"  said  Margery ;  and  rose,  with  the  child  still  in  her 
arms,  to  give  her  up.  As  she  did  so,  she  met  the 
nurse's  eyes,  and  received  a  shock  of  surprise.  What 

274 


My  Lord  and  My  Lady 

could  she  have  done  or  said  to  deserve  that  furious 
look  of  dislike  and  alarm  ?  It  was  veiled  the  next 
instant  by  discreet  eyelids. 

"  Are  the  children  fond  of  their  nurse  ?  "  she  asked, 
when  the  nursery  party  had  retired. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know — I  suppose  so.  Why  ?  " 
said  Flora. 

"  I  thought  she  did  not  look  very — good-tempered," 
said  Margery. 

"  Oha  she's  quite  invaluable  !  "  cried  Flora,  affronted. 
"  The  most  splendid  creature — so  capable,  and  keeps 
the  children  always  turned  out,  as  you  see,  like  pic- 
tures, and  with  such  nice  quiet  manners.  She's  a 
perfect  treasure.  Why,  I  had  her  from  the  Duchess  of 
Daventry,  when  the  poor  little  Marquess  died  !  " 

Margery  said  nothing  more.  Indeed,  she  hardly 
could  have  done  so,  for  tea  was  brought  in  at  the 
moment  by  the  splendid  creature  who  had  appeared 
before,  assisted  by  another  of  only  less  magnificence. 
And  immediately  afterwards  Flora  said  :  "  Oh,  here's 
my  husband  !  Lord  Stellacombe — Mrs.  Vane." 

Margery  turning,  met  curious  light  eyes  set  in  a 
dark  face;  and  her  heart  stood  still. 

Like  lightning,  her  memory  ran  back  to  that  night 
three  weeks  before  her  wedding,  when  Denzil  had 
taken  her  to  the  theatre.  Just  so  these  same  curious 
light  eyes  had  looked  at  her,  as  she  and  Denzil  came 
out  into  the  wet  street — with  the  same  attentive 
surprise,  followed  immediately  after  by  the  same 
unsmiling  amusement.  Two  facts,  standing  out  from 
all  others  in  her  brain,  seemed  to  paralyse  her. 

275  18* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

This  was  Denzil's  cousin ;  and  he  must  know  where 
Denzil  was. 

This  was  Denzil's  cousin  ;  and  he  must  not  know 
that  she  was  Denzil's  wife. 

The  longing  to  ask  the  one  question  that  would  tell 
her  what  she  had  longed  for  five  years  to  know : 
the  knowledge  that  she  could  only  ask  it  at  the  cost 
of  her  secret :  were  almost  more  than  she  could  bear. 
She  knew  that  she  could  not  trust  herself  to  introduce 
Denzil's  name  in  any  side  way,  so  that  she  might 
ask  her  question  without  appearing  to  ask  it.  It 
meant  too  much  to  her — her  voice  must  shake,  her 
colour  must  come  and  go ;  and  this  man's  eyes  saw 
everything.  With  all  the  strength  she  had,  she  forced 
herself  to  keep  quiet ;  shook  hands,  hoping  that  he 
would  not  notice  how  cold  and  trembling  hers  was  ; 
sat  still,  with  downcast  eyes,  drinking  something  that 
presumably  was  tea,  eating  something  that  might 
have  been  anything. 

"Just  fancy,  Horace — Mrs.  Vane  used  to  be  Miss 
Lennard,  the  children's  governess  at  home !  "  said 
Flora.  "  I  was  so  astonished  when  I  met  her  acci- 
dentally this  afternoon  !  " 

"  It  must  have  been  a  great  surprise  for  you — both," 
said  Lord  Stellacombe.  The  veiled  amusement  deep- 
ened in  his  eyes  as  he  glanced  at  Margery;  but  there 
was  something  else  there  too,  which  made  her  shiver. 
She  remembered  how  Dick  had  said  that  "  the  lord- 
ship's "  eyes  were  like  the  eyes  of  Red  Ridinghood's 
wolf. 

She  could  not  make  herself  eat  or  drink  anything 
276, 


more,  but  she  contrived  to  make  a  decorous  show  of 
doing  so  for  a  few  minutes  longer :  rising  then  and 
excusing  herself,  on  the  plea  that  she  would  be  late  at 
home  if  she  stayed  any  longer.  "  My  little  boy  and  I 
always  have  a  high  tea  at  six,"  she  said;  and  Flora's 
eyes  expressed  ingenuous  astonishment  that  anyone 
should  partake  of  such  a  meal — or,  if  they  must  do 
so,  that  they  should  bring  themselves  to  own  as  much. 


CHAPTERptVI 

MARGERY   RECEIVES  VISITORS 

FOR  the  rest  of  that  week,  Margery  saw  nothing  of 
anyone  connected  with  the  Hall.  But  she  went  to 
church  on  Sunday  morning  in  fear  and  trembling 
lest  the  light  wolf-eyes  should  be  turned  on  her  from 
the  Hall  pew,  though  she  remembered  Denzil's  saying 
— how  well  she  seemed  to  remember  everything  he  had 
ever  said  ! — that  his  cousin  never  went  to  church.  She 
could  not  bring  herself  to  glance  in  the  direction  of 
those  cross-pews  at  all  until  some  third  of  the  service 
was  over.  Then,  conscious,  as  one  is,  that  for  a  long 
while  certain  eyes  there  had  been  steadily  fixed  on 
her,  she  took  her  courage  in  both  hands  and  looked 
composedly  across. 

The  shock  that  she  received  was  not  unaccompanied 
by  relief.  Flora  was  there,  marvellously  dressed, 
very  limp  and  languid,  sitting  down  for  the  Psalms, 
and  refreshing  herself  at  frequent  intervals  with  a  gold 
scent-bottle  set  with  emeralds.  Her  husband  was  not 
there  at  all;  but  someone  else  was  by  her  side,  and 
it  was  his  eyes  that  had  been  so  unwinkingly  fixed 
upon  Margery.  It  was  Mr.  Theophilus  Privett. 

Time  had  not  withered  him.  It  had,  on  the  con. 
278 


Margery  receives  Visitors 

trary,  made  his  plump  form  plumper,  his  bald  head 
balder,  and  his  round  face  rounder,  and  even  more 
suggestive  than  it  used  to  be  of  a  well-boiled  pink 
ham.  His  little  eyes  seemed  to  have  retreated  farther 
than  ever  into  rolls  of  fat ;  but  they  were  very  bright, 
and  they  were  fixed  on  Margery  with  such  a  curious 
expression  that  she  felt  her  colour  rise.  Indeed,  he 
stared  at  her  so  persistently  that  she  was  relieved 
when  the  service  came  to  an  end  ;  and  she  lingered 
in  the  church,  on  one  pretext  or  another,  until  the 
throbbing  of  a  motor  outside  assured  her  that  the  fine 
folks  from  the  Hall  had  departed.  She  wished  more 
heartily  than  ever  that  they  had  never  come  to  this 
part  of  the  world  at  all.  It  was  not  only  that  she 
was  feeling  afresh  the  heavy  weight  of  her  secret,  and 
a  terror  of  being  unable  to  keep  it  safely ;  the  whole 
village  seemed  more  or  less  demoralized.  Motors 
from  the  Hall  were  flying  about  at  all  hours  of 
day  and  night,  to  the  danger  of  every  child  in  the 
neighbourhood,  for  Lord  Stellacombe  was  a  furious 
driver.  Several  women  and  girls  had  been  up  to  help 
in  various  ways,  and  had  come  back  dazzled  with  the 
fine  town  servants,  the  waste  and  luxury  and  wealth, 
which  had  never  come  their  way  before.  Even  Mrs. 
Strong,  whose  regular  custom  it  was  to  take  tea  with 
Margery  on  Sunday  afternoons,  could  talk  of  nothing 
but  the  new-comers  in  general  and  his  lordship  in 
particular.  His  lordship  had  been  to  see  her.  ' '  What 
about  ?  "  Margery  asked  quickly ;  but  Mrs.  Strong 
was  so  thrilled  by  the  event,  and  talked  so  fast  about 
it,  that  its  reason  never  transpired.  Wonderful 

279 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

knowledgeable,  Mrs.  Strong  considered  his  lordship, 
for  a  London  gentleman  ;  he  had  had  the  perspicacity 
to  admire  exactly  those  things  on  the  farm  on  which 
she  particularly  prided  herself.  He  had  drunk  some 
of  her  cowslip  wine  and  had  eaten  some  of  her  special 
seedy  cake,  and  had  asked  for  more,  said  Mrs.  Strong, 
with  triumph.  He  had  also  said  that  he  had  never 
tasted  anything  like  either  of  them  before ;  and  Mar- 
gery, knowing  full  well  the  nature  of  these  formidable 
concoctions,  would  have  been  amused  if  she  had  not 
been  too  anxious.  He  must  have  been  very  much 
bent  upon  making  himself  agreeable.  So  interested, 
he  was,  Mrs.  Strong  continued  volubly,  in  every- 
thing connected  with  the  village ;  so  surprised  to 
hear  that  Margery  had  been  a  lodger  at  the  farm  for 
so  many  months — and  here  Mrs.  Strong  grew  a  little 
confused,  for  she  was  conscious  of  having  said  far 
more  than  she  had  ever  intended,  in  answer  to  Lord 
Stellacombe's  insinuating  questions.  It  was  a  very 
small  matter  that  she  had  described  Denzil  accurately, 
with  much  wealth  of  detail,  and  their  arrival,  and  the 
circumstances  attending  his  departure,  and  the  manner 
of  Margery's  return ;  all  the  world  knew  those  things. 
But  she  did  feel  some  prickings  of  conscience  to  re- 
member that  she  had  been  led  on,  by  his  sympathetic 
attitude,  to  confide  to  him  the  wonder  she  had  felt 
when  Denzil  never  came  back  or  even  wrote.  Asked 
further  how  she,  a  woman  of  such  acuteness,  accounted 
for  this  mystery,  she  had  even  admitted  what  she 
had  never  before  breathed  to  mortal  soul — the  various 
speculations  that  had  passed  one  after  another  through 

280 


Margery  receives  Visitors 

her  mind ;  how  sometimes  she  had  believed  that 
Denzil  must  be  dead,  and  sometimes  that  perhaps 
he  had  suddenly  lost  his  memory,  like  people  in  books, 
and  sometimes  (with  bated  breath)  that  he  must 
be  in  prison  for  something.  All  these  ideas  Lord 
Stellacombe  to  hear  did  seriously  incline,  and  at  the 
end  he  just  hinted  a  suggestion  which  she  had  never 
allowed  to  enter  her  mind  for  a  moment — suppose 
they  were  not  married  at  all  ?  She  had  repudiated 
it,  of  course,  as  in  private  duty  bound,  with  indigna- 
tion ;  but  the  thought  stuck,  as  mud  sticks,  and  it 
made  her  feel  guilty  now  when  she  met  Margery's  clear 
eyes. 

At  that  uncomfortable  moment  Dick  came  in — not 
at  all  a  Sunday  Dick,  but  ruffled,  dusty,  hatless,  with 
a  bruise  on  his  forehead,  two  badly  scratched  knees, 
and  the  sleeve  half  torn  out  of  his  coat.  Mrs.  Strong 
exclaimed  with  horror  at  the  sight  of  him,  and  Margery 
started  up,  astonished  and  alarmed. 

"  I've  lost  my  hat,"  said  Dick,  making  immediate 
confession  to  his  mother. 

"  But  what  can  have  happened  ?  "  Margery  asked 
seriously,  pouring  out  hot  water  to  bathe  the  injured 
knees.  She  had  never  known  Dick  to  fight  as  yet — 
but  presumably  he  would  do  so  sooner  or  later,  like 
other  boys ;  only  she  could  have  wished  that  he  had 
not  chosen  a  Sunday  to  begin. 

"  The  motor  went  over  it,"  said  Dick.  "  It  was 
quite  smashed." 

Margery  turned  white,  and  her  hands  began  to  shake. 
It  was  Mrs.  Strong's  questions  and  exclamations  that 

281 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

drew  the  story  piecemeal  from  Dick,  in  a  child's  in- 
coherent fashion.  How  he  had  climbed  up  a  high 
bank  to  get  a  cluster  of  autumn  leaves,  such  as  Margery 
liked  to  have  in  a  jar  on  the  mantelpiece  ;  how  he  had 
slipped  and  fallen — "  But  I  don't  remember  being  on 
the  road  at  all,"  said  Dick.  How  the  next  thing  he 
remembered  was  being  dragged  up  by  one  arm — 
"  That  was  how  my  coat  got  torn  " — and  finding  him- 
self, in  a  whirl  of  dust,  standing  by  the  roadside  in 
Mr.  Kent's  grip,  while  Lord  Stellacombe  sat  in  his 
motor  just  a  little  farther  on.  Mr.  Kent  said  hardly 
anything,  said  Dick ;  but  his  voice  sounded  funny. 
The  lordship  talked  a  good  deal,  as  if  he  were  very 
angry  with  both  of  them  ;  Dick  had  not  understood 
a  good  many  of  his  words  at  all.  Mr.  Kent  told  him 
then  that  it  was  lucky  for  him  that  he  had  happened 
to  be  passing  at  the  moment.  The  lordship  said 
that  no  one  could  see  round  a  corner.  What  was 
stunned  ?  What  was  manslaughter  ?  And  Dick's 
head  ached  very  much.  Was  tea  nearly  ready  ? 

Mrs.  Strong  was  full  of  horrified  comment ;  but 
Margery,  after  holding  her  boy  for  a  moment  in  a  tight, 
fierce  grip,  which  Dick  resented  greatly,  only  fell  to 
bathing  his  forehead  and  knees  without  a  word.  Such 
accidents  were  always  occurring,  of  course  ;  it  was 
exactly  the  sort  of  thing  that  had  been  in  her  mind 
ever  since  the  advent  of  the  Hall  motors.  It  would 
have  been  alarming  in  any  case,  whoever  had  been  in 
the  car ;  but  the  fact  that  it  had  been  Lord  Stella- 
combe  turned  Margery,  for  some  reason,  sick  and  cold. 
She  felt  as  if  she  would  never  dare  to  let  Dick  out  of 

282 


Margery  receives  Visitors 

her  sight  again.  It  even  cost  her  a  pang  when  Mrs. 
Strong,  preparing  to  go,  invited  him  down  to  the  farm 
the  next  day,  to  have  tea  and  help  her  make  blackberry 
jam  :  an  annual  festival  which  was  one  of  Dick's 
greatest  joys.  Of  course,  Margery  might  have  gone 
too.  But  she  knew  quite  well  that  Mrs.  Strong  had 
something  of  a  mother's  jealousy  of  the  boy  whom  she 
considered  almost  her  own,  and  dearly  loved  to  have 
him  to  herself  now  and  then  ;  and  Dick,  too,  was  old 
enough  by  this  time  to  appreciate  the  supreme  im- 
portance of  paying  visits  by  himself. 

So  Margery  stifled  her  own  feelings,  and  set  him  off 
alone,  when  the  time  came,  after  afternoon  school  the 
next  day  ;  and  then,  mother-like,  ran  up  to  the  attic 
window  and  watched  him  go  every  step  of  the  way, 
until  she  saw  him  safely  in  at  the  farm  gate  far  down 
the  straight  village  street.  Withdrawing  her  gaze 
with  a  breath  of  relief,  and  looking  down,  she  became 
aware  of  Lady  Denise,  on  a  handsome  roan  mare, 
looking  up  at  her  and  laughing. 

"  I  was  wondering  how  long  it  would  be  before 
you  noticed  me,  Mrs.  Vane  !  "  she  cried.  "  Are  you 
busy  ?  May  I  come  and  see  you  in  ten  minutes  ?  " 

"  Oh,  please  do  !  "  Margery  cried  warmly;  and  she 
ran  downstairs  again  and  busied  herself  getting  tea 
ready,  thinking  that  under  the  circumstances  she 
was  glad  that  Dick  had  gone  to  the  farm. 

Lady  Denise,  meanwhile,  at  the  Vicarage  gate, 
talked  low  and  earnestly  to  Mr.  Kent.  She  had  given 
him  a  letter,  which  he  held  unopened  in  his 
hand. 

283 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyef 

"  The  poor  old  man  only  died  yesterday  evening,  and 
we  wanted  you  to  have  the  offer  of  the  living  at  once," 
she  was  saying.  "  Oh,  Henry,  do  come  !  It  will 
mean  so  much  to  my  father — to  both  of  us — to  have 
you  there.  I  made  him  write  the  formal  offer  at  once> 
and  rode  over  with  it  myself  so  that  I  might  say  all  I 
could  as  well." 

Mr.  Kent  stood  quite  still,  as  his  manner  was,  looking 
down  at  the  letter  in  his  hand. 

"  You  need  not  think,  because  the  place  is  charm- 
ing, that  there  is  nothing  for  you  to  do  there,"  Lady 
Denise  urged.  "  Mr.  Varcoe  was  so  old  that  things 
have  been  allowed  to  slide  dreadfully.  You  can  work 
as  hard  as  you  like.  You  are  more  wanted  there  than 
here — in  every  way.  My  father  is  an  old  man  now, 
Henry,  and  he  is  very  fond  of  you — and  he  has  no 
sons." 

Still  Mr.  Kent  said  nothing. 

"  I  hate  to  think  of  you  living  in  this  poky  little 
house  !  "  Lady  Denise  flashed  out. 

"Is  it  poky  ?  I  never  thought  about  it,"  said  Mr. 
Kent  with  an  amused  smile.  "  It  is  quite  good  enough 
for  me." 

"  It's  not  good  enough  for  your  wife  when  you 
marry  !  "  said  Lady  Denise. 

"  I  don't  think  it  likely  that  I  shall  ever  marry," 
said  Mr.  Kent. 

"  Really,  anyone  who  overheard  us  might  think  that 
I  was  proposing  to  you  myself !  "  cried  Lady  Denise  ; 
and  burst  out  laughing,  as  one  may  at  an  idea  that  is 
frankly  absurd.  Mr.  Kent's  stern  face  softened  wonder- 

284 


Margery  receives  Visitors 

fully  as  he  looked  up  at  her.  Flora  would  probably 
have  been  scandalized  at  the  heartlessness  of  the  remark  ; 
but  he  knew  her  well  enough  to  know  that  something 
very  much  more  important  than  her  complexion  had 
been  left  behind  in  India  with  her  husband  and  her 
child. 

"  Well,  I  won't  worry  you  any  more  ;  but  do  think 
over  it  and  say  '  Yes,'  "  she  said  earnestly,  leaning 
down  from  her  saddle. 

"  I  will  write  to  your  father  to-night,"  Mr.  Kent 
promised. 

"  Good-bye,  then  !  I  am  going  to  see  Mrs.  Vane," 
said  Lady  Denise  ;  and  flashed  a  keen  glance  at  him  from 
under  her  black  lashes  as  she  said  the  name. 

Margery  had  her  tea-table  spread  with  the  best  she 
had;  and  Lady  Denise,  eating  clotted  cream  with 
bread  and  jam  like  a  schoolgirl,  frankly  enjoyed  herself, 
proving  to  be  one  of  those  ideal  guests  who  are  per- 
fectly happy  from  the  moment  they  enter  a  house  to 
the  moment  they  leave.  In  ten  minutes  Margery  felt 
as  if  she  had  known  her  all  her  life,  and  found  herself 
talking  of  her  trivial  everyday  occupations  quite 
freely,  and  asking  advice  about  small  difficulties. 
"  But  you  can't  be  interested  in  all  this  !  "  she  said, 
pulling  herself  up  in  confusion. 

"  Yes,  I  am.  Do  tell  me  what  happened  then  !  " 
said  Lady  Denise  with  every  appearance  of  truthful- 
ness; and  subsequently  helped  herself  to  more  jamf 
and  said  that  it  was  the  best  she  had  tasted  for  years, 
and  was  Margery's  recipe  a  secret,  or  would  she  mind 
giving  it  ? 

2*5 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

So  Margery  talked  as  she  had  never  talked,  except 
to  Denzil,  of  the  things  that  interested  her ;  and,  look- 
ing at  the  strong  face  opposite,  felt  the  quick,  warm 
affection  that  a  young  woman  often  conceives  for 
another  woman  appreciably  older,  and  yet  still  of  her 
own  generation.  She  found  it  a  little  difficult,  certainly, 
to  keep  from  talking  about  Dick,  seeing  how  large  he 
bulked  in  her  life ;  and  was  glad  to  turn  for  safety  to 
the  tale  of  her  meeting  with  Flora,  and  how  they  had 
been  formerly  acquainted,  and  of  her  visit  to  the 
Hall. 

"  Well ;  and  what  do  you  think  of  it  ?  "  said  Lady 
Denise. 

Margery  felt  a  delicacy  in  saying  exactly  what  she 
thought.  She  took  refuge  in  saying  that  she  was 
sorry  to  see  how  delicate  the  children  looked. 

"  The  children — oh,  don't  talk  of  them  !  "  cried 
Lady  Denise,  with  a  sharp  change  of  voice.  "  It's  one 
reason  why  I  can't  bear  to  stay  there — to  see  those 
poor,  neglected,  tragic  little  souls  !  I  want  to  pet  them 
— and  yet  I  feel  that  it's  cruel ;  for  what  they've  never 
had  they  don't  know  that  they  miss.  She  doesn't  see 
them  sometimes  for  days  together — just  leaves  them  to 
that  brute  of  a  nurse  whom  she  took  without  a 
character " 

"  Why,  she  seemed  to  think  so  much  of  her  !  "  said 
Margery  in  astonishment.  "  She  said  that  she  had 

her  from  a  Duchess " 

"  Yes — it's  just  to  be  able  to  say  that,  that  she 
took  her,"  said  Lady  Denise  sharply.  "  The  Daventry 
baby  died  in  that  woman's  hands,  and  everyone  knew 

286 


Margery  receives  Visitors 

that  she  had  drugged  him.  They  didn't  prosecute.  It 
was  too  late  to  do  anything,  and  the  poor  Duchess 
was  half  out  of  her  mind  as  it  was.  I  told  Flora — but 
she  wouldn't  believe — or  didn't  care.  Oh,  it  drives 
me  mad  !  Those  poor,  poor  babies  !  "  She  sprang  up 
and  stood  close  to  the  open  window,  as  if  she  could  not 
breathe. 

Margery,  appalled,  thought  of  the  nurse's  look  at 
her,  and  saw  again  the  little  waxen-faced,  quiet 
baby. 

"I'm  glad,  glad  that  they  have  no  boy — that  hurts 
them,  at  least !  "  said  Lady  Denise.  The  tears  were 
running  down  her  face  ;  she  stamped  her  foot  passion- 
ately. "  Oh,  don't  talk  of  it  any  more — I  can't  bear 
it !  " 

The  next  moment,  with  a  complete  change  of  tone 
and  manner,  she  had  dried  her  eyes,  and  was  insisting 
on  helping  Margery  to  clear  away  tea  and  wash  up. 
She  had  not  done  such  a  thing  for  years — she  never 
had  the  chance  at  home  ;  it  would  be  a  real  treat. 
And  so,  in  spite  of  Margery's  scandalized  protests,  she 
drew  up  her  sleeves  and  pinned  up  her  habit,  and  fell 
to  work  with  a  will.  She  was  delighted  with  the  cosy 
cottage  kitchen,  and  charmed  with  the  neatness  of  all 
Margery's  arrangements  ;  and  it  was  not  till  the  last 
plate  had  been  washed  and  put  away,  that  she  exclaimed 
with  horror  at  the  time. 

"  You  will  never  let  me  come  again,  after  a  visitation 
like  this  !  "  she  said  whimsically. 

"  Indeed,  I  can't  tell  you  what  a  pleasure  it  has 
been  !  "  said  Margery. 

287 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

"  At  any  rate,  it  is  your  turn  now  to  come  and  see 
me,"  said  Lady  Denise,  drawing  on  her  riding  gloves. 
"  Saturday  is  a  holiday,  isn't  it  ?  Will  you  come  next 
Saturday  and  lunch  with  me  ?  I'll  send  the  car  for 
you  early.  Do  come  !  " 

It  was  a  fascinating  invitation ;  and  Margery  accepted 
it  with  some  little  trepidation,  but  a  vast  amount  of 
pleasure. 

"  Good  !  "  said  Lady  Denise.     "  Now  I  must  really 

go." 

Margery  ran  upstairs  to  fetch  her  hat  and  walk  with 
her  guest  as  far  as  the  village  inn,  where  her  mare 
had  been  put  up.  Coming  back,  she  saw  through  the 
open  doorway  that  Lady  Denise  had  taken  up  a  worn 
old  sock  of  Dick's  lying  on  her  work-basket  ready 
to  be  mended,  and  was  fingering  it  tenderly,  hungrily. 
The  look  on  her  face  made  the  tears  rush  to  Margery's 
eyes.  She  turned  to  the  front  door  and  opened  it  with 
a  little  rattle;  and  Lady  Denise,  dropping  the  sock 
as  if  it  had  burnt  her,  came  out  with  perfect  com- 
posure. 

"  Well,  good-bye,  Mrs.  Vane — till  Saturday,"  she 
said.  "  Don't  forget !  " 

"  I  will  walk  down  with  you,"  said  Margery. 

It  was  a  lovely  evening,  with  the  beginnings  of  a 
glorious  sunset.  Having  watched  her  guest  ride  off, 
Margery  turned  away  from  home  and  up  towards  the 
Moor.  It  would  be  a  shame  to  go  indoors  yet.  She 
would  come  back  by  another  way  and  pick  up  Dick  at 
the  farm ;  and  Dick,  would  certainly  not  want  to  go  home 
till  bedtime. 


Margery  receives  Visitors 

The  lanes  were  lonely,  set  deep  in  their  hedges,  so 
that  Margery  could  only  see  a  little  way  before  and 
a  little  way  behind.  She  met  a  few  men  returning  from 
work,  and  nodded  "  Good-night  "  ;  and  then,  turning 
a  sharp  corner,  to  her  great  surprise  she  met  Mr. 
Privett.  She  was  not  at  all  sure  that  he  would  want 
to  speak  to  her ;  but  he  came  up  to  her  at  once,  with  a 
beaming  red  face  and  a  fat  hand  held  out. 

"  Now,  I  call  this  lucky,"  he  cried,  "for  I  was  just 
on  my  way  to  see  you  !  " 

"  Were  you,  really  ?  It  was  very  kind,"  said  Mar- 
gery, frankly  surprised. 

"  Perhaps  you'll  let  me  go  a  little  way  with  you 
as  we've  met,"  said  Mr.  Privett. 

"  Certainly,  with  pleasure,"  said  Margery.  She 
remembered  gratefully  that  he  had  been  kind  to  her  at 
Canning  Place. 

They  walked  on  up  towards  the  Moor. 

"  Not  quite  so  fast,  please,  my  dear  lady  1  "  cried 
Mr.  Privett,  panting. 

Margery  relaxed  her  long,  swinging  step,  and  laughed. 
"  I  have  been  so  used  to  walking  alone,  or  with  my 
little  boy,  who  is  always  in  a  hurry,  that  I'm  afraid  I 
do  walk  fast,"  she  said.  "  Have  you  been  up  here 
before  ?  Isn't  it  lovely  ?  " 

"  Lonely — very  lonely !  "  said  Mr.  Privett  with 
strong  distaste. 

"  Well,  that  is  part  of  the  beauty  of  it,"  said 
Margery.  "  Don't  you  like  to  be  able  to  see  all 
round  for  miles  and  miles  without  a  house  at 
all?" 

289  19 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  No ! "  said  Mr.  Privett  very  decidedly  indeed. 
"  I  don't !  " 

Margery,  drinking  in  deep  breaths  of  the  sweet  air, 
that  had  already  a  hint  of  coming  autumn  sharpness 
in  it,  smiled  without  troubling  to  answer.  Mr.  Privett' s 
opinion  really  mattered  less  than  nothing  to  her. 

"  Come,  now  !  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me  that  you 
like  this  better  than  London  ?  "  he  went  on  argumen- 
tatively. 

"  Indeed  I  do  !  "  said  Margery ;  and  the  thought 
of  Dick  caged  in  London  streets,  after  the  wild,  healthy 
freedom  of  his  life  here,  gave  great  decision  to  her 
tone. 

"  Oh,  nonsense  !  You  don't  mean  that,  you  know," 
said  Mr.  Privett. 

His  tone  vaguely  displeased  Margery,  and  hers  was 
a  little  stiff  as  she  answered  :  "It  is  fortunate  that  I 
do  mean  it,  Mr.  Privett ;  for  there  is  not  the  smallest 
likelihood  of  my  going  back  to  London." 

"  Not  if  you  were  asked  ?  "  said  Mr.  Privett. 

Margery,  looking  sharply  at  him,  was  suddenly 
very  sorry  that  she  had  allowed  him  to  come  with  her. 

;<  You're  wasted  here,  you  know.  Not  a  soul  to 
look  at  you  ;  and,  upon  my  soul,  you're  worth  looking 
at ! "  said  Mr.  Privett,  in  a  voice  that  grew  more 
familiar  every  moment.  "  It's  just  as  I  prophesied 
once,  as  you  may  remember,  a  good  many  years  ago 
now.  You're  fifty  times  handsomer  now  than  you  were 
then  ;  while  look  at  Flora  !  No  one  would  give  her  a 
second  glance  now,  and  she  was  a  prettyish  girl  then." 

Margery  turned  sharp  away  from  the  Moc»r,  and  took 
290 


Margery  receives  Visitors 

a  road  that  led  directly  back  to  the  village.  "  That  is 
your  best  way  to  the  Hall,"  she  said,  pointing  out 
another  that  ran  at  right  angles. 

"  Now  you're  annoyed  with  me  !  "  said  Mr.  Privett, 
taking  no  notice  at  all  of  this  strong  hint.  "  What  is 
it  all  about  ?  Is  it  because  I  said  nothing  about  the 
little  chap  ?  Bless  you,  he  shan't  be  a  difficulty — • 
I'm  not  the  man  to  be  mean  about  a  good  school " 

Margery  grew  rather  white.  She  did  not  slacken 
speed  at  all  as  she  walked,  but  she  looked  very  straight 
at  him.  "  Please  don't  say  any  more,  Mr.  Privett," 
she  said.  "  You  don't  understand.  It  is  quite 
impossible." 

"  Now,  my  dear  Miss  Lennard  !  "  urged  Mr.  Privett. 

"  My  name  is  Mrs.  Vane,"  said  Margery. 

"  Oh,  no,  it  isn't ! "  said  Mr.  Privett,  most  un- 
expectedly. 

The  colour  forsook  Margery's  face  in  good  earnest 
at  that,  and  at  last  she  stopped  dead.  "  What  do 
you  mean  ?  Who  said  such  a  thing  ?  "  she  asked,  and 
her  voice  shook  in  spite  of  herself. 

"  Why,  my  nephew,  Lord  Stellacombe,  of  course," 
said  Mr.  Privett ;  and  he  lingered  over  the  name  and 
the  relationship  with  deep  enjoyment. 

Margery's  world  seemed  to  be  spinning  round  her, 
but  she  fought  hard  for  self-control.  "  Will  you 
please  tell  me  exactly  what  he  told  you  ?  "  she  said 
at  last,  very  slowly,  because  she  could  not  trust  her 
voice. 

"  Oh,   what's  the  use  ?     What  does  it  matter  ? 
cried  Mr.  Privett,  as  if  he  found  this  digression  uselc 

291  19* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

and  annoying.  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  wish  to  say  or  repeat 
anything  that  will  vex  you.  I  make  you  a  fair  offer — a 
very  fair  offer,  I  think,  under  the  circumstances. 
What's  your  answer  ?  " 

Margery  tried  madly  to  think  and  understand. 
Surely  this  could  have  only  one  meaning  :  Lord  Stella- 
combe  had  told  Mr.  Privett  that  Denzil  was  dead. 
But,  in  any  case,  let  her  clear  away  the  little  man's 
importunity  once  for  all  before  she  went  on  to  this 
vastly  more  important  matter. 

"  I  think  you  mean  to  be  kind,"  she  faltered.  "  But 
please  never  speak  of  this  to  me  again  !  Even  if — if  my 
husband  is  dead — I  could  never  marry  you." 

There  was  an  odd,  awkward  silence. 

"  You  needn't  try  to  keep  up  appearances  with 
me,"  said  Mr.  Privett.  "  Talking  about  husbands,  I 
mean." 

For  half  a  moment,  in  spite  of  his  tone,  Margery  did 
not  understand.  Then,  gasping,  she  felt  as  if  she  had 
been  whipped  across  the  face. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  you  don't  believe  in  my  having 
a  husband  ?  "  she  cried,  scarlet. 

"  Well,  if  you  have,  who  is  he  ? — and  where  is  he  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Privett. 

Margery's  breath  came  fast. 

"  Now,  my  dear  girl,  be  reasonable ! "  said  Mr, 
Privett.  "  /  don't  want  to  rake  up  old  stories — though 
I  can  tell  you  that  my  niece,  Lady  Stellacombe,  was 
uncommonly  shocked.  Of  course,  it  is  all  years  ago 
now  and  forgotten.  But  it's  no  use  to  pretend  that 
you  are  really  married,  or  ever  were !  " 

292 


Margery  receives  Visitors 

"  That  is  a  lie  1  "  said  Margery  with  scarlet  cheeks 
and  blazing  eyes. 

"  Oh,  I'm  a  liar,  am  I  ?  "  said  Mr.  Privett,  getting 
angry  in  his  turn.  "  Very  well,  then  !  As  I  said 
before,  who  is  your  husband  ? — and  where  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  wonder  that  you  should  wish  to  marry  me,  if 
you  can  think  that  of  me  1  "  said  Margery. 

"  I  can  tell  you  it  isn't  many  men  who  would  1  " 
said  Mr.  Privett,  calming  down  at  the  sense  of  his  own 
magnanimity,  and  the  successful  making  of  his  point 
for  the  second  time.  "  But,  as  I  said,  it's  an  old 
story  now,  and  you  are  the  only  woman  that  I  ever 
fancied  in  my  life."  He  took  her  familiarly  by  the 
arm. 

"  Please  don't !  "  said  Margery,  trying  to  get  away; 
but  the  pudgy  hand  was  unexpectedly  strong. 

"  Now,  be  reasonable,  and  say  '  Yes '  like  a  sensible 
girl ! "  said  Mr.  Privett,  holding  her  fast. 

Margery  looked  wildly  about  her ;  but  they  were 
back  again  by  this  time  in  the  deep,  narrow  lanes,  and 
it -was  most  unlikely  that  anyone  would  pass  this  way 
so  late.  Struggling  was  merely  undignified  when  she 
had  already  proved  it  to  be  useless.  She  stood  quite 
still. 

"  Now,  that's  better  !  "  said  Mr.  Privett;  and  before 
she  was  aware  of  it  he  slipped  his  arm  round  her  waist. 
And  at  that  she  gave  a  sharp,  frightened  cry. 

"  Don't  be  afraid.  Why,  I  wouldn't  hurt  you  for 
the  world  1 "  said  Mr.  Privett,  as  if  he  were  a  good  deal 
pleased  to  have  made  such  an  impression.  Then  he 
stopped  suddenly  and  looked  quickly  round ;  for  they 

293 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

could  both  hear  rapid  footsteps  coming  towards  them. 
The  next  moment  Mr.  Kent  had  turned  the  corner 
close  by,  and  Margery  had  cried  out  his  name  in  a 
voice  that  told  more  than  she  knew.  Mr.  Privett's 
hands  fell  to  his  sides  with  remarkable  suddenness. 

"  Let  me  see  you  home,  Mrs.  Vane.  It  is  much  too 
late  for  you  to  be  out  here — alone,"  said  Mr.  Kent. 

"  Here !  here ! "  said  Mr.  Privett,  with  a  faint 
attempt  at  bluster.  "  I  don't  want  any  parsons 
interfering ' ' 

"  If  you  were  thirty  years  younger,"  said  Mr.  Kent, 
"  I'd  thrash  you  within  an  inch  of  your  life — if  I  were 
fifty  times  a  parson  !  " 

Margery  had  never  in  her  life  seen  a  really  strong 
man  really  angry.  His  face  fairly  frightened  her ;  but 
she  felt  an  extraordinary  sense  of  comfort  and  pro- 
tection beside  him,  and  it  was  an  untold  relief  to  see 
Mr.  Privett  edging  off  obediently  towards  the  road 
that  led  to  the  Hall,  with  a  haste  that  was  anything 
but  dignified.  Mr.  Kent  walked  beside  her  in  a 
merciful  silence  without  looking  at  her ;  and  Margery 
was  very  grateful,  for  she  was  shaking  all  over,  and 
could  not  have  spoken  a  word  without  breaking  out 
into  childish  tears.  He  did  not  say  a  word,  until  she 
had  fought  down  the  hysterical  sobbing  and  was  begin- 
ning to  wonder  if  she  could  trust  her  voice  enough  to 
thank  him.  Then,  as  if  he  knew  by  instinct  exactly 
how  she  felt,  he  turned  to  her  and  spoke. 

"  May  I  ask  you  a  question,  Mrs.  Vane  ?  and  will 
you  believe  that  I  am  not  asking  out  of  idle 
curiosity  ?  " 

294 


Margery  receives  Visitors 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Margery,  trembling  again,  for 
his  voice  sounded  unnatural. 

"  Is  your  husband  living  ?  "  said  Mr.  Kent  very 
abruptly  and  sharply.  And  Margery  answered,  with 
a  sob  that  was  almost  a  cry  :  "  Oh,  I  wish  I 
knew !  " 

"  You  wish  you  knew  ? "  Mr.  Kent  had  stopped 
abruptly,  with  his  deep-set  eyes  fixed  on  her  face.  And 
Margery  faltered  out,  in  reply,  as  much  of  her  story  as 
she  had  told  Mrs.  Jannaway.  Of  her  secret  marriage 
and  the  reason  of  it ;  of  Denzil's  leaving  her,  and  the 
reason  for  that,  and  something  of  the  doubts,  fears 
and  surmises  that  had  haunted  her  ever  since.  It 
was  a  wonderful  relief  to  unburden  herself  of  even  so 
much  of  the  heavy  load  that  she  had  borne  alone 
for  so  long. 

"  And  you  have  never  taken  any  steps  to  find 
him  ?  "  said  Mr.  Kent. 

"  How  could  I  ? "  said  Margery.  "  I  had  pro- 
mised." 

They  walked  on  in  silence  until  they  reached  trie 
gate  of  the  farm. 

"  I  am  going  in  here  to  fetch  Dick,"  said  Margery, 
stopping.  "  I — I  can't  thank  you." 

"  Good-night,"  said  Mr.  Kent.  "  I  am  glad  I 
happened  to  be  there." 

He  did  not  offer  to  shake  hands — which  hurt  Mar- 
gery a  little — or  even  look  at  her  again ;  but  went  off 
up  the  village  street  towards  the  Vicarage  very  fast, 
as  if  he  had  suddenly  thought  of  something  that  was 
better  done  at  once. 

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The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

The  Vicarage  faced  east,  and  inside  it  was  already 
almost  dark  ;  but  the  Vicar's  housekeeper,  who  had  a 
commendable  though  rather  depressing  leaning  to- 
wards economy,  had  not  thought  it  necessary  to  light 
up  as  yet.  Mr.  Kent  was  not  without  his  welcome 
home,  however,  for  Edward,  his  bell  ringing  bravely, 
came  trotting  to  meet  his  master,  with  a  little  croon 
of  inquiry  as  to  why  he  had  been  so  long  away,  and 
followed  him  into  the  study  :  and  when  the  Vicar 
took  his  boots  off,  hurled  himself  to  rub  his  bullet 
head  against  his  master's  feet  in  an  ecstasy  of 
devotion. 

One  of  mankind's  superiorities  over  womankind  is 
the  fact  that  it  always  has  matches  in  its  pocket. 
The  Vicar,  fumbling  in  the  dark,  struck  one,  and 
lighted  the  candles  which  stood  on  his  table.  They 
had  been  left  burning  some  tune  in  a  draught,  and 
had  dribbled  over  in  a  long,  twisted  stem  down  to 
the  candlestick.  Seen  in  their  rather  faint  light,  the 
study  looked  uncommonly  dreary  and  dusty  and 
ill  cared  for. 

Mr.  Kent  took  up  his  pen  hastily  and  sat  down  to 
write.  His  stern  face  was  more  than  usually  set  and 
grim. 

"  DEAR  LORD  CHESILDEN, 

"  I  must  thank  you  heartily  for  your  very 
kind  offer  of  the  living  of  Chesilden,  and  I  accept  it 
with  gratitude. 

"  Yours  very  sincerely, 

"  HENRY  KENT." 
296 


Margery  receives  Visitors 

"  The  better  part  of  valour,  dear  old  chap !  "  said 
the  Vicar  to  Edward,  as  he  stamped  and  addressed  the 
envelope ;  and  he  patted  him  hard,  like  a  dog.  And 
Edward,  bowled  over  by  the  strenuousness  of  the 
patting,  picked  himself  up  to  come  and  rub  hard 
against  his  master's  hand  once  more,  and  explain  that 
he  quite  understood,  and  was  not  at  all  offended. 


297 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   LITTLE   CHURCH  IN  THE   PARK 

IT  happened,  fortunately  for  Margery,  that  the  next 
Saturday  was  a  particularly  convenient  day  for  her 
to  be  away  from  home ;  for  Mr.  Kent  had  invited  Dick 
to  go  fishing  with  him,  and  that  was  a  rare  and  won- 
derful treat,  raising  the  boy  to  the  seventh  heaven  of 
delight,  and  making  him  feel  a  man  indeed.  He  had 
a  great  affection,  albeit  tempered  with  a  wholesome 
awe,  for  his  godfather,  and  ranked  him  next  after  his 
mother  ;  Mrs.  Strong  coming  in  as  a  poor  third,  because 
Dick  knew  perfectly  well  that  he  could  twist  her  round 
his  little  finger,  and  consequently,  though  he  was 
very  fond  of  her,  he  respected  her  not  at  all. 

He  had  talked  of  nothing  else  for  days  beforehand, 
the  ordinary  joy  of  such  a  prospect  being  enhanced  by 
the  fact  that  they  were  going  "  a  long,  long  way  !  " 
said  Dick,  opening  his  black  eyes  very  wide  in  eager 
emphasis.  This  involved  their  making  the  journey  in 
a  certain  curious  low  pony-cart  belonging  to  the 
village  inn ;  and  Margery,  while  quite  understanding 
how  much  this  added  to  the  festivity,  had  to  stifle 
certain  motherly  fears  with  respect  to  rampant  motors 
and  frightened  ponies,  for  Mr.  Kent,  like  most  of 

298 


The  Little  Church  in  the  Park 

his  cloth,  was  an  extraordinarily  poor  driver.  She 
saw  Dick  off  to  the  Vicarage  gaily,  however,  in  the 
oldest  suit  of  clothes  for  which  Mr.  Kent  always 
stipulated  ;  and  then,  with  quite  a  childish  excitement 
over  her  own  day's  pleasure,  began  to  watch  for  the 
promised  motor,  long  before  there  was  the  smallest 
likelihood  of  its  coming.  At  the  bottom  of  her  heart 
she  was  very  sorry  that  Mr.  Kent  was  not  going  by 
the  road  that  passed  the  school,  so  that  he  might 
have  picked  up  Dick  on  the  way  ;  for  she  was  con- 
scious, with  a  little  innocent,  pardonable  vanity, 
that  she  was  looking  very  nice. 

She  had  run  upstairs  half  a  dozen  times,  forgetting 
things  for  pure  excitement,  before  she  saw  a  motor 
in  the  distance,  and  noted  agreeably  the  thrill  given 
to  the  village  at  seeing  anything  so  impressive  draw 
up  at  the  schoolhouse.  It  was  an  extremely  fine  and 
large  car,  quite  inconspicuous  in  appearance,  but 
with  every  detail  about  it  perfect  of  its  kind.  The 
chauffeur,  though  he  looked  as  haughty  and  remote 
as  most  of  his  tribe,  unfastened  Margery's  modest 
gate,  and  helped  her  into  the  tonneau,  and  arranged 
the  rugs  for  her,  with  as  much  respect  as  if  she  had 
been  an  empress  instead  of  a  village  schoolmistress. 
Once  they  were  off,  the  rapid  gliding  motion  was  more 
like  flying  than  anything  that  she  had  ever  imagined. 
The  Stellacombes'  car,  which  had  given  her  her  only 
other  experience  of  motoring,  was  like  a  farm-cart  in 
comparison,  in  spite  of  its  gorgeous  appearance  and 
blaring  horn.  Margery  sat  back  luxuriously  among 
her  luxurious  rugs,  and  enjoyed  every  minute  of  her 

299 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

quick  flight  through  the  air ;  nodded  delightedly  to 
astonished  acquaintances  whom  she  met ;  was  heartily 
sorry  when  the  brief  journey  was  over  and  they  had 
passed  some  very  fine  gates  of  Italian  ironwork,  held 
open  by  a  curtseying  lodge-keeper,  and  were  speeding 
up  a  long  elm  avenue  to  the  fine  Jacobean  house  that 
stood  on  rising  ground  at  the  head  of  it.  It  was  all 
very  stately  and  imposing;  and  Margery,  shy  by 
nature,  and  additionally  so  by  reason  of  her  retired 
and  solitary  life,  began  to  be  frightened.  She  remem- 
bered, all  too  late,  that  Lady  Denise,  in  spite  of  her 
friendly  simplicity,  was  a  great  lady.  The  house, 
when  they  drew  up  before  it,  looked  enormous.  There 
were  deer  in  the  park — always  an  impressive  feature 
to  the  unsophisticated  mind.  There  would  certainly 
be  dreadful  men-servants.  Margery  began  to  wish 
that  she  had  stayed  at  home. 

But  there  proved  to  be  no  men-servants  at  all — for 
the  moment,  at  any  rate.  Only  Lady  Denise,  coming 
out  of  the  door  in  the  frankest  fashion,  as  Margery 
might  have  come  from  her  own  cottage  to  welcome  a 
visitor.  Her  greeting  was  very  warm.  She  wore  a 
grey  woollen  gown  quite  as  simple,  and  not  nearly 
so  becoming,  as  Margery's  own ;  and  that  was  a  great 
help. 

"I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  !  "  she  said;  and  brought 
Margery  in  through  a  beautiful  hall,  and  up  wide, 
polished  stairs,  and  along  corridors,  until  it  seemed 
as  if  a  life  time's  acquaintance  would  be  necessary 
before  one  knew  the  way  about  such  a  big  house.  It 
was  a  very  beautiful  house  indeed,  and  everything  in  it 

300 


The  Little  Church  in  the  Park 

seemed  to  have  grown  there,  so  that  one  could  not 
imagine  putting  anything  else  successfully  in  the 
same  place. 

"  This  is  my  den,"  said  Lady  Denise,  opening  a 
door.  "  And  a  stupid  person  has  just  chosen  this 
time  to  come  and  see  me  about  some  village  muddle, 
so  I  must  leave  you  for  a  minute  or  two.  I'm  so 
sorry." 

But  Margery  did  not  mind  at  all.  She  was  really 
glad  to  have  time  to  recover  her  mental  balance  and 
look  about  her. 

It  was  an  odd  room,  more  like  a  man's  than  a 
woman's,  the  very  opposite  of  any  room  that  Flora 
Stellacombe  had  ever  had  the  ordering  of:  so  that 
Margery  felt  at  once  how  impossible  it  must  be 
for  the  two  of  them  to  have  anything  in  common. 
There  was  an  immense  quantity  of  books  of  all 
sorts,  ancient  and  modern,  grave  and  gay,  only 
alike  because  they  all  looked  well  read.  The  only 
purely  ornamental  things  in  the  room  were  some  very 
handsome  Indian  hangings  and  an  elaborate  carved 
teak  mantelpiece.  On  this  stood  two  photographs, 
the  only  ones  in  the  room  :  a  man  in  uniform,  with  a 
kindly,  clever,  strong  face,  and  a  small  boy,  not  at  all 
unlike  Dick  in  size  and  age  and  general  appearance 
Margery  studied  them  both  very  seriously ;  and,  if 
she  looked  longer  at  Lady  Denise's  husband  than  at 
her  boy,  she  could  hardly  have  told  the  reason.  With- 
out any  physical  beauty  at  all,  Captain  Ormathwaite 
looked  the  sort  of  man  in  whom  the  heart  of  his  wife 
must  have  trusted  safely ;  it  was  impossible  to  imagine 

301 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

time,  or  separation,  or  any  chance  of  fortune,  making 
a  change  in  him.  And  suddenly  Margery,  arriving 
at  that  conclusion,  caught  herself  up  in  a  fright,  and 
turned  hastily  away  from  the  photograph.  She  was 
standing,  when  Lady  Denise  came  back,  quite  at  the 
other  side  of  the  room,  looking  at  the  open  piano  and 
the  music  on  it. 

"  You  are  fond  of  music,  and  play  yourself  ? " 
said  Lady  Denise. 

"  Oh,  I  love  it !  I  used  to  play — but  I  think  I  have 
forgotten  how  by  this  time,"  said  Margery.  "  There 
is  only  a  harmonium  at  the  school." 

"  You  poor  thing  !  "  Lady  Denise  flashed  out  a 
quick  laugh  that  was  quite  kind  and  sympathetic.  "  I'll 
play  to  you  before  you  go,  and  you  shall  try  if  you 
really  have  forgotten  the  way.  But  it  would  be  a  sin 
to  stay  indoors  now,  on  a  glorious  morning  like  this. 
Will  you  come  and  see  my  roses  ?  " 

They  left  the  house  by  a  different  way,  that  led  along 
still  more  endless  corridors,  and  finally  through  a 
picture  gallery,  where  family  portraits  stared  down 
from  both  walls  at  Margery  until  she  felt  positively 
shy  again. 

"  Aren't  we  an  ugly  family  ?  "  said  Lady  Denise, 
with  refreshing  candour.  And,  indeed,  the  pictures, 
whether  they  wore  Tudor  ruffs,  or  Cavalier  curls,  or 
Augustan  wigs,  or  powder  and  patches,  all  had  a  certain 
grim  cast  of  features  that  made  for  strength  rather 
than  for  beauty.  "  I  do  think,"  Lady  Denise  went 
on,  surveying  her  ancestors  with  critical  eyes  as  she 
passed  them,  "  that  for  sheer  solid  British  plainness 

302 


The  Little  Church  in  the  Park 

this  gallery  would  be  hard  to  beat !  In  fact,  there  is 
only  one  handsome  picture  in  the  house — my  mother's  ; 
and  she  came  from  the  West  Indies.  But  my  father 
has  that  in  his  library." 

She  paused  a  moment  before  the  last  picture  in  the 
long  line.  It  represented  a  delicate-looking  young 
man,  in  whom  the  family  characteristics  were  repro- 
duced so  strongly  that  he  looked  almost  like  a  carica- 
ture of  those  who  had  gone  before. 

"  This  is  my  brother  Denis,"  she  said.  "  He  died 
when  he  was  twenty- four.  It  was  a  fancy  of  my 
father's  to  call  us  all  as  nearly  as  possible  after  my 
mother — which  perhaps  was  fortunate  for  us,  for  our 
family  names  are  nearly  as  ugly  as  ourselves  !  Her 
name  was  Denise  Delorme.  When  you  see  my  father, 
you  will  find  it  hard  to  believe  that  he  could  do  such 
a  fanciful  thing  ;  but  he  adored  her — my  pretty  young 
mother — and  he  has  never  been  the  same  since  she 
died." 

They  went  down  another  flight  of  polished  stairs, 
and  out  at  a  side  door. 

"  By  the  way,"  Lady  Denise  went  on,  "I  may  as 
well  warn  you,  while  I  think  of  it,  not  to  say  anything 
about  the  Stellacombes.  My  father  can't  bear  Horace, 
and  finds  it  a  very  bitter  thing  that  he  is  his  heir.  I 
do  my  best  to  keep  the  peace  between  them — that 
is  why  I  was  staying  there — though  I'm  afraid 
my  sympathies  are  all  on  my  father's  side.  Lady 
Stellacombe  isn't  a  great  friend  of  yours,  is 
she  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  "  said  Margery.     "  You  see,  I  was  only 
303 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

the   governess ;     she   would    never   have    thought    of 

making  friends  with  me.     Besides " 

"  Just  so  !  I  know  quite  well  what  besides  means," 
said  Lady  Denise  quickly.  "  She  married  my  cousin 
for  the  title,  and  he  married  her  for  her  money,  and 
I'm  afraid  I  am  ill-natured  enough  to  wish  that  I  could 
take  either  or  both  away  from  them — the  title,  for 
choice  !  I  think  that  would  hit  them  very  hard,  and 
it  would  please  my  father  so  !  Unluckily,  of  course, 
it  is  impossible." 

They  turned  as  she  spoke  into  a  rose-garden  sloping 
to  the  south,  and  bordered  with  yew  hedges  ;  and 
Margery  cried  out  at  the  beauty  of  it.  The  place  was 
so  sheltered  that,  late  as  it  was  in  the  year,  the  roses 
were  blooming  as  if  it  had  been  June. 

"  One  of  my  hobbies,"  said  Lady  Denise.  "  They  do 
well  here,  don't  they  ?  " 

"  I  never  saw  anything  so  lovely  in  all  my  life  !  " 
said  Margery,  with  a  long  sigh  of  pure  pleasure. 

Lady  Denise  laughed  at  her  whimsically.  "  You 
have  plenty  of  time  still  before  you,  Mrs.  Vane,  to 
see  even  more  wonderful  sights  than  this  !  " 

"  Indeed,"  said  Margery  seriously,  "  I  am  not  so 
very  young.  I  am  nearly  twenty-four." 

Lady  Denise  smiled  and  sighed.  "  And  I  am  thirty- 
eight — that  seems  elderly  to  you,  doesn't  it  ?  But  I 
wouldn't  change  with  you,  for  all  that.  When  one 
has  lost  as  much  as  I  have,  one  is  glad  to  think  that 
one  is  going  down  the  hill.  Every  day  that  goes 
means  one  less  of  separation."  She  spoke  suddenly 
of  her  husband,  with  the  extraordinary  frankness  of 

304 


The  Little  Church  in  the  Park 

the  naturally  reserved  woman  who  meets  with  the 
rare  delight  of  a  congenial  companion.  Only  two  or 
three  sentences;  but  they  left  Margery  very  silent, 
for  they  showed  her  something  that  she  had  never 
met  with  before — something  as  far  removed  from  a 
boy  and  girl  fancy,  or  marriage  for  the  sake  of  title 
or  wealth  or  position,  as  pole  from  pole. 

"  Don't  look  at  me  like  that,  Mrs.  Vane  !  "  said 
Lady  Denise,  with  a  sudden  quick  change  back  to  her 
whimsical  manner.  "  I  assure  you  that  I  don't  expect 
to  die  for  another  thirty  years  at  least — oh,  what  a 
long  time  it  sounds  !  "  She  caught  her  breath  and 
bit  her  lip.  "  Besides,  I  have  my  days  as  full  as  they 
can  well  be,  and  any  amount  of  business  and  pleasure, 
and  any  number  of  interests.  Pray  don't  look  so  sorry 
for  me  !  " 

But  Margery  was  quite  silent.  In  the  depths  of  her 
heart  she  was  more  than  half  envious  of  the  one  who 
had  had  so  much,  rather  than  sorry  for  the  one  who 
had  lost  it. 

They  left  the  rose-garden,  and  strolled  on  into  the 
park. 

"  Am  I  tiring  you  out  ?  "  said  Lady  Denise. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  said  Margery  quickly.  "  I  walk  a  great 
deal ;  I  love  walking." 

"  What  a  rare  accomplishment  nowadays  !  "  said  Lady 
Denise,  with  her  quick,  flashing  laugh. 

It  was  a  still,  golden  autumn  day,  with  the  leaves 
at  their  brightest,  and  the  bracken  underfoot  all  brown 
and  yellow.  They  passed  a  miniature  lake,  with  some 
curious  Indian  fowl  on  it.  Deer  moved  across  the  long 

305  20 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

sloping  glades  in  the  distance ;  and  beyond  that  every- 
thing was  hazy  in  a  faintly  blue  mist. 

"  Come  and  see  our  little  church,"  said  Lady  Denise. 
"  You  don't  know,  I  suppose,  that  we  are  going  to 
rob  you  of  your  Vicar  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Margery ;  and  looked  at  her  quickly. 

"  Our  old  Vicar  died  a  week  ago.  My  father  offered 
my  cousin  the  living,  and  I  am  glad  to  say  that  he 
has  accepted  it.  It  will  be  a  great  pleasure  to  us  to 
have  him  here,  and  I  don't  know  a  more  charming 
house  than  the  Vicarage — such  a  change  from  what  he 
has  now !  " 

"  That  will  be  very  nice  for  him,"  said  Margery 
tamely. 

"  And  for  us  !  "  Lady  Denise  insisted.  "  Poor  dear 
old  Mr.  Varcoe  was  nearly  ninety,  and  nearly  blind, 
and  nearly  childish — too  much  so  to  realize  how  much 
better  it  would  have  been  for  everyone  concerned  if  he 
had  resigned.  Poor  old  man !  I  feel  ashamed  now 
to  think  how  he  annoyed  me.  And  yet  people  who 
knew  him  as  a  young  man  said  that  he  was  perfectly 
charming.  But  I  don't  think  I  like  charming  men.  Do 
you  ?  " 

Margery,  flushed  and  stammering,  made  no  intelligible 
answer. 

"It  is  all  very  well  when  a  man  is  quite  young," 
said  Lady  Denise  ;  and  her  words  found  a  traitorous 
echo  in  Margery's  troubled  heart.  "  But — well,  per- 
haps I  am  prejudiced.  There  is  an  uncle  of  mine — a 
brother  of  my  mother's — who  is  so  fatally  gifted  with 
charm,  and  yet  such  a  dismal,  dismal  failure  in  life. 

306 


The  Little  Church  in  the  Park 

And  yet  I  have  always  heard  that,  in  his  early  twenties 
— of  course,  he  is  a  middle-aged  man  now — he  absolutely 
fascinated  everyone  who  met  him." 

The  colour  had  all  fled  from  Margery's  cheeks  now. 
One's  own  doubts  and  difficulties  are  hard  to  deal  with ; 
but  when  they  are  put  into  actual  words  by  someone 
else,  they  seem  to  rise  up  in  double  grimness. 

"  Here  is  the  church,"  said  Lady  Denise. 

They  had  come  upon  it  rather  suddenly  as  they 
turned  out  of  a  long  oak  avenue.  Quiet,  old  and 
moss-stained  outside  ;  inside  cool  and  still  and  peaceful, 
with  a  grave  sanctity  about  it  that  would  have  made 
Margery,  if  she  had  been  alone,  fall  on  her  knees  in 
one  of  the  high  old-fashioned  pews,  and  sob  her  heart 
out.  There  .were  fanciful  carved  heads  at  the  entrance 
to  every  pew — birds,  beasts,  angels,  in  quaint  proximity. 
There  was  an  odd,  ugly  crest — obviously  the  Chesilden 
crest — repeated  over  and  over  again  in  the  carvings 
and  in  the  dim  stained  glass  of  the  windows.  It  struck 
Margery  with  a  curious,  disturbing  sense  of  familiarity. 
She  knew  nothing  of  heraldry ;  but  somewhere  else 
she  had  seen  that  queer  dancing  beast  with  wings 
and  a  dragon's  head — seen  it  often  enough  to  know  it 
quite  well. 

"  Our  wyvern  is  nearly  as  ugly  as  we  are,  isn't  he  ?  " 
said  Lady  Denise  ;  and,  though  her  voice  was  decorously 
low,  it  was  full  of  a  whimsical  amusement. 

The  odd,  baffling  sense  of  familiarity  beat  at  Mar- 
gery's brain  with  insistence.  She  had  forgotten  for  the 
moment ;  but  someone  else  had  told  her  the  name  of  the 
beast  long  ago.  "  Argent,  a  wyvern  rampant,  gules  " 

307  20* 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

— she  heard  herself  repeating  the  phrase  over  and 
over  like  a  lesson.  She  battled  with  the  maddening, 
intolerable  half-remembrance,  and  could  not  get  hold 
of  the  clue. 

She  followed  Lady  Denise  down  the  aisle,  and  stood 
looking  with  only  half-seeing  eyes  at  an  elaborate 
mural  tablet  of  an  early  Lord  Chesilden  in  a  ruff, 
with  his  seven  sons  kneeling  neatly  in  order  of  size 
behind  him,  and  his  seven  daughters  kneeling  with 
equal  decorum  behind  his  wife  opposite.  There  was 
a  curious  rhyming  inscription  underneath,  which  at 
another  time  would  have  interested  Margery  greatly. 
There  was  also  a  very  old  font — "  the  oldest  thing 
in  the  church,"  said  Lady  Denise.  "  But,  indeed,  this 
is  the  only  modern  thing  here  at  all."  She  broke 
off  suddenly,  as  if  she  could  no  longer  trust  her  voice ; 
and  Margery,  lifting  up  her  eyes,  saw  Denzil  lying 
before  her  in  white  marble. 

His  face  was  turned  towards  her ;  and  so  well  had 
the  sculptor  done  his  work  that,  but  for  the  dead  white- 
ness of  the  figure,  Margery  might  almost  have  fancied 
that  she  saw  her  living  husband  before  her.  The 
beautiful,  regular  features  lent  themselves  admirably 
to  this  form  of  reproduction  ;  the  attitude  was  graceful 
and  lifelike.  Margery  stood  with  her  heart  in  her 
eyes,  and  gazed  and  gazed. 

"  It  is  my  brother  Denzil,"  said  Lady  Denise  with 
her  deep  voice  very  unsteady.  "  He  was  drowned 
when  he  was  only  twenty- two " 

"  Drowned  ? "  said  Margery.  She  was  surprised 
to  find  that  sne  could  speak  quite  clearly, 

308 


The  Little  Church  in  the  Park 

"  In  a  terrible  wreck — the  Campaspe.  Oh,  it  is  not 
likely  that  you  would  remember  it !  It  is  five  years 
ago,"  said  Lady  Denise.  "  My  father  lost  both  his 
sons  in  a  week — Denis  died  three  days  before  Denzil. 
And  I  was  in  India."  She  turned  quickly  away,  like 
a  child  who  does  not  like  to  be  caught  crying  ;  but 
Margery  saw  a  tear  drop  on  the  stone  floor.  Her 
own  eyes  were  quite  dry. 

The  silence  that  followed  seemed  as  if  it  would 
never  end.  Margery  stood  looking  at  the  figure  of 
Denzil,  and  wondering  in  a  curious  detached  way 
what  would  happen  next.  The  strain  grew  unbear- 
able. It  was  an  untold  relief  when  a  sudden  voice, 
calling  outside  the  church,  made  Lady  Denise  start 
and  turn,  passing  her  handkerchief  quickly  over  her 
face. 

"  That  is  my  father  calling  me  !  We  must  go," 
she  said;  and  she  walked  quickly,  without  looking  at 
Margery,  up  the  aisle  to  the  little  north  door  by  which 
they  had  entered.  Margery  followed,  dumb  and 
dazed.  She  could  not  realize  what  she  had  just  learnt, 
or  understand,  or  even  feel  about  it.  But  she  was 
aware  that  she  was  going  at  last  to  meet  Denzil' s 
father — that  stern  father  who  had  been  the  cause  of 
her  keeping  a  dead  man's  secret  for  five  years. 

She  almost  ran  against  Lady  Denise,  who  had  come 
to  a  sudden  stop  at  the  door  and  was  staring  out  with 
a  white  face. 

"  Who  is  that  child  ? "  she  said  in  an  odd,  hoarse 
voice. 

Margery,  looking  out  too,  saw  with  astonishment 
309 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyef 

her  own  Dick.  He  had  a  letter  in  his  hand.  He  was 
very  shy,  and  consequently  very  fierce;  and  he  was 
standing  face  to  face  with  a  tall,  bent  old  man,  re- 
turning fierce  stare  with  fierce  stare.  But  the  strange 
thing,  to  the  two  women  watching  unnoticed  from  the 
doorway,  was  that  the  old  man's  face  and  the  little 
boy's  were  feature  for  feature  the  same  :  an  absolute 
likeness  of  coal-black  hair  and  strongly  marked  brows, 
of  strong,  irregular  features,  of  square  cleft  chin. 
Even  a  certain  curious  shrug  of  the  shoulders,  of  which 
Margery  had  often  vainly  tried  to  cure  Dick,  was  a 
faithful  reproduction  of  the  old  man's  attitude. 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

The  hoarse  voice,  shaking  extremely,  would  have 
daunted  most  boys.  But  Dick  still  looked  up  bravely, 
and  answered  without  fear. 

"  Mr.  Kent  sent  me  to  find  my  mother.  He  said  she 
was  here.  I  have  a  letter  for  her." 

"  What  is  your  name  ? "  said  Lord  Chesilden 
hoarsely. 

"  Richard  Denzil  Vane,"  said  Dick,  lifting  a  defiant 
chin. 

Lady  Denise  gave  a  quick  little  gasp  and  cry.  Dick, 
turning  at  the  sudden  sound,  saw  Margery,  and  turned 
to  her  with  relief.  "  Oh,  mother,"  he  cried,  "  here  is 
a  letter " 

Lord  Chesilden  crossed  the  space  dividing  him 
from  Margery  with  two  steps.  He  was  a  tail  and 
commanding  old  man,  and  his  face  could  not  well 
have  been  sterner  or  more  imperious ;  but  Margery, 
looking  up  at  him,  was  not  afraid. 

310 


The  Little  Church  in  the  Park 

"  What  was  my  son  Denzil  to  you  ?  "  he  asked  her 
harshly. 

And  Margery  told  at  last  the  secret  that  had  been 
such  a  weary  burden  for  five  years.  "  He  was  my 
husband,"  she  said. 

"  Where  were  you  married  ? — and  when  ?  "  cried  Lady 
Denise,  with  a  quick  urgency  in  her  deep  voice.  Lord 
Chesilden  was  standing  perfectly  still,  as  if  the  power 
of  speech  had  left  him  ;  but  his  eyes  never  left  Margery's 
face. 

"  We  were  married  five  and  a  half  years  ago,  on  the 
thirteenth  of  February,"  said  Margery,  "  in  London— 
at  St.  Matthew's,  Canning  Place." 

Simple  as  they  were,  the  effect  of  those  few  words 
was  almost  terrifying ;  for  at  the  sound  of  them  an 
extraordinary  change  passed  over  Lord  Chesilden. 
From  an  old  man,  he  became  quite  suddenly  an  aged 
man.  His  set  face  relaxed;  the  strong  old  hands, 
crossed  one  over  the  other  on  the  handle  of  his  stick, 
began  to  shake  pitifully.  He  looked  like  a  man  who, 
having  braced  himself  with  all  his  strength  to  bear 
some  lifelong  burden,  could  not  bear  the  reaction  of 
having  the  burden  removed  without  warning.  Lady 
Denise  was  instantly  at  his  side,  her  arm  through  his, 
turning  him  away  from  the  church  door ;  but  not 
so  quickly  that  Margery  had  not  seen  the  slow,  terrible 
tears  of  old  age  beginning  to  run  down  the  whiteness 
of  his  face.  She  drew  Dick  away  quickly  in  the 
opposite  direction,  so  that  he  might  not  see  them. 

"  Here  is  a  letter  for  you,  mother,"  the  boy  repeated. 
He  had  always  a  tenacious  fashion  of  keeping  to  his 

311 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

point  until  he  had  gained  it,  and  the  presence  of  these 
strangers  was  to  him  merely  odd,  uncomfortable  and 
quite  incomprehensible.  "  We  met  the  postman  just  as 
we  started.  And  it  has  got  '  Immediate '  written  on 
it,  so  Mr.  Kent  said  that  I  had  better  come  and  find 
you — because  we  were  coming  near  here,  anyhow." 

Margery  took  the  letter  mechanically  and  without 
interest.  She  did  not  know  the  writing,  or  trouble  to 
examine  the  postmark  ;  she  had  not  a  correspondent 
in  the  world  from  whom  she  would  have  cared  to  hear 
just  then.  But  she  had  better  open  it-;  it  would  give 
Lord  Chesilden  more  time.  She  tore  it  open,  and 
saw  at  once  the  signature  "  Herbert  Jannaway," 
and  hardly  cared  to  go  farther.  It  was  merely  an 
answer,  of  course,  to  her  letter  about  Phyllis. 

The  next  moment  a  sentence  caught  her  eye  and 
held  it. 

"  I  do  trust  the  letter  was  of  no  importance.  We 
found  it  only  to-day,  put  away  in  a  box  of  our  little 
girl's  treasures,  which  she  would  never  let  anyone  else 
touch.  I  can  only  imagine  that  the  foreign  stamps  took 
her  fancy — — " 

With  trembling  fingers  Margery  took  the  letter  from 
its  cover.  There  was  something  else  enclosed — an 
old,  dirty,  faded  envelope  that  had  never  been  opened, 
with  the  address  in  Denzil's  handwriting,  and  a  date 
of  more  than  five  years  before.  It  took  Margery 
back,  like  the  magic  carpet  of  a  fairy-tale,  to  those 
long-ago  days  before  she  had  forgotten  how  to  hope- 
She  felt  herself  once  more  the  young  girl-wife  whom 
Denzil  had  left,  as  she  drew  out  the  crumpled  letter. 

312 


The  Little  Church  in  the  Park 

Such  a  boyish,  hasty  scrawl ;  such  an  insignificant 
sheet  of  paper — it  seemed  impossible  that  the  loss  of 
it  should  have  made  five  years'  difference  to  so  many 
lives. 

"  MY  OWN  DEAREST  MARGERY. — I  must  make  time 
to  write  a  line,  though  I  ought  to  be  doing 
fifty  other  things  instead.  My  poor  brother  Denis 
died  quite  suddenly  this  morning — an  awful  blow  to 
my  father ;  but  I  think  we  have  understood  each 
other  since  better  than  we  ever  did  before.  If  only 
I  hadn't  to  go  to  Jamaica  !  But  everything's  settled, 
and  it  would  make  awful  confusion  to  give  it  up  at  the 
last  minute,  and  so  I  must  go  ;  but  my  father  says  I 
need  only  stay  a  week  or  two — so  it  won't  be  three 
months,  you  see,  after  all,  before  I  come  back  to  my 
darling  wife  !  I  nearly  told  my  poor  old  father  about 
you  ;  and  then  it  didn't  seem  the  thing  to  do  at  this 
minute,  and  I  am  just  off.  I  really  think  he  would 
hardly  have  minded ;  he  has  been  awfully  decent,  and 
I  wish  I  hadn't  always  thought  him  so  down  on  me. 
When  I  come  back  I  mean  to  be  a  model  everything. 
I  am  so  glad  to  have  something  decent  to  offer  you, 
darling.  It's  poor  sport  being  only  a  younger  son — 
but  that's  over  now.  I'm  really  not  a  brute — I  never 
dreamt  of  stepping  into  poor  Denis'  shoes,  and  I  shall 
miss  him  horribly.  But  it's  for  you  that  I'm  glad. 
This  is  the  first  time  that  I  sign  myself  (and  it's  quite 
right  that  it  should  be  to  you), 

"  Your  loving  husband, 

"  STELLACOMBE." 
313 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

It  was  with  an  effort  that  Margery,  reading  and 
re-reading  with  dazed  eyes,  realized  that  Lady  Denise 
was  touching  her  arm  and  speaking  to  her. 

"  I  don't  think  you  heard  my  father.  He  is  so 
anxious  to  hear — anything  you  like  to  tell  him." 

Margery  lifted  her  eyes  to  Lord  Chesilden,  and  held 
out  her  letter. 

"  This  is  from  Denzil,"  she  said.  "  It  was  lost. 
It  was  only  sent  to  me  just  now." 

"  From  Denzil !  " 

Lord  Chesilden  and  Denise  spoke  together;  and 
together  they  read  the  letter,  while  Margery  looked 
with  a  curious  detached  interest  at  the  signet  ring 
on  the  old  man's  hand.  That  was  the  missing  clue, 
of  course,  to  what  had  been  eluding  her  memory. 
Denzil  had  worn  a  ring  like  it ;  and  it  had  been  from 
him — how  could  she  have  forgotten  for  a  moment  ? — 
that  she  had  learnt  her  lesson  about  wyverns.  It 
must  have  been  the  coloured  blazoning  in  the  church 
windows  which  had  baffled  her,  and  made  the  crest  seem 
unfamiliar. 

Dick,  horribly  bored  by  all  this  incomprehensible 
behaviour,  and  yet  too  well  brought  up  to  worry  his 
elders  while  they  were  obviously  busy,  had  found  a 
dead  mole,  and  with  it  had  found  instant  consolation 
and  interest.  Margery's  eyes,  wandering  to  him, 
suddenly  filled  with  tears.  It  is  the  small  things  of  life 
that  prick  home  to  our  hearts  the  meaning  of  the 
great  events.  Her  mind  was  still  so  stunned  with  the 
shock  of  a  too  sudden  knowledge,  after  all  these  years 
of  ignorance,  that  she  scarcely  realized  what  it  all 

314 


The  Little  Church  in  the  Park 

meant ;  but  it  came  to  her  like  a  blow  that  Denzil 
would  never  see  his  son.  But  she  must  not  give  way 
now.  Plenty  of  time  for  that  later,  when  she  was 
quietly  back  again  at  home,  with  time  to  think  and 
think  until  she  made  herself  gradually  understand. 
There  was  so  much  that  must  be  told  first. 

Lord  Chesilden  and  Denise  had  finished  the  letter, 
and  turned  to  her  again  ;  and  she  found  herself  telling 
a  plain  and  simple  story  of  how  she  and  Denzil  had 
first  met,  of  their  marriage,  and  the  reason  for  its 
concealment — softening  this  as  much  as  might  be, 
for  she  saw  Lord  Chesilden  wince.  She  told  of  their 
honeymoon  and  their  parting,  and  of  the  one  letter 
that  she  had  had  from  Denzil ;  and  then  she  stopped. 

"  Well !  "  said  Lord  Chesilden,  looking  sharply  at 
her  with  his  stern,  deep-set  eyes.  "  What  then  ?  What 
steps  did  you  take  to  find  out  what  had  happened  ?  " 

"  I  could  do  nothing,  without  telling  who  Denzil 
was,"  said  Margery,  surprised. 

"  But  did  you  see  no  lists  of  names  of  those  who  were 
lost  in  the  Campaspe  ?  " 

"  I  looked  for  the  name  of  Holyer,  of  course,"  said 
Margery;  and  her  voice  shook,  as  she  remembered 
those  agonies  of  searching. 

"  But  did  it  never  occur  to  you — had  he  never  told 
you  my  name  or  his  brother's,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  I  never  thought  of  your  name  being  anything 
but  Mr.  Holyer,"  said  Margery  with  extreme  sim- 
plicity. "  Yes,  he  talked  of  you  often ;  but  he  always 
said  '  my  father '  or  '  my  brother.'  ' 

"  And  did  he  never  mention  where  we  lived  ?  " 
315 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  I  think  he  must  have,  once  or  twice,  because  I 
seemed  to  have  heard  the  name  before  when  Lady 
Denise  asked  me  to  come  here  to-day,"  said  Margery, 
knitting  her  brows  in  the  effort  to  remember.  "  But 
that  would  not  have  told  me  anything,  you  see,  even 
if  he  did."  And  she  wondered  a  little  at  the  quick 
flash  of  amusement  that  came  into  the  eyes  of  both 
father  and  daughter  for  an  instant.  It  had  never 
occurred  to  either  of  them  before  that  there  could  be 
anyone  so  ignorant  of  the  Red  Book  as  to  have 
not  even  a  nodding  acquaintance  with  the  name  of 
Chesilden  of  Chesilden. 

"  Then  you  did  nothing  at  all  ?  " 

"  I  just  waited,"  said  Margery. 

"  Waited — for  five  years  ?  " 

"  There  was  nothing  else  to  do,"  said  Margery.  "  I 
could  not  tell  anyone — without  Denzil's  leave — as  long 
as  he  was  alive." 

There  was  a  curious  silence,  as  if  both  Lord  Chesilden 
and  Denise  found  nothing  at  all  to  say.  It  was  broken 
by  the  sudden  noisy  blare  of  a  motor-horn,  and  a 
large  conspicuous  car  dashed  into  sight  from  the  high 
road,  at  a  pace  that  made  Lord  Chesilden  frown  and 
stare. 

"  Horace  and  Flora — at  this  moment  of  all  others  !  " 
cried  Denise,  with  strong  disfavour.  But  Lord  Chesil- 
den's  frown  vanished  as  quickly  as  it  had  come,  and 
was  replaced  by  a  smile  that  had  something  vastly 
unpleasant  lurking  in  it  for  someone.  His  tall,  bent 
form  straightened  itself  like  that  of  a  young  man. 
He  turned  to  greet  Flora,  mincing  over  the  grass  in  the 

316 


The  Little  Church  in  the  Park 

last  and  ugliest  and  most  expensive  of  motoring  attire ; 
and  his  manner  was  too  suave,  his  attitude  too 
courteous. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you  !  "  he  said  ;  and  he  said 
it  as  if  he  meant  it  heartily. 

"How  sweet  of  you!"  gushed  Flora:  though  it 
was  perfectly  evident,  from  the  quick,  alarmed  glance 
that  she  threw  at  him,  that  she  felt  the  absurdity  of 
the  adjective  in  such  a  connection.  "  We  are  going 
to  Exeter  for  the  day,  and  couldn't  help  just  running 
in  to  see  if  we  could  do  anything  for  you — or  for  dear 
Denise  !  "  She  became  suddenly  aware  of  the  presence 
of  Margery — her  husband,  standing  behind  her,  had 
noticed  her,  without  noticing,  from  the  first — and, 
tossing  her  virtuous  chin  in  the  air,  gave  her  the  cut 
direct. 

"  I  thought  you  had  met  this  lady  ?  "  said  Lord 
Chesilden  suavely,  with  the  elaborate  old-world  courtesy 
which  can  be  overwhelming  when  it  conveys  even  a 
touch  of  sarcasm. 

"This  lady?"  said  Flora;  and  her  tone,  which  she 
tried  to  make  withering,  suddenly  reminded  one  of 
the  hands  that  no  manicuring  could  make  otherwise 
than  plebeian.  "  Oh — I  think  perhaps  you  don't  know 
quite  so  much  about  her  as  I  do ;  or  perhaps  it 
hasn't  occurred  to  you  to  ask  her  if  she  ever  had  a 
husband  !  " 

"  On  the  contrary,  my  dear  niece,"  said  Lord  Chesil- 
den, "  perhaps  I  know  even  more  on  both  those  points 
than  you  do.  Since  you  seem  a  little  doubtful  whether 
you  know  her,  Mrs.^Holyer " 

317 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

He  was  still  speaking  pointedly  to  Flora,  who  looked 
up  at  him  with  wide  eyes  of  astonishment. 

"  Let  me  have  the  pleasure  of  making  you  known 
to  one  another,"  said  Lord  Chesilden.  "  Mrs.  Horace 
Holyer — Lady  Stellacombe,  my  son  Denzil's  widow." 

Flora  gave  a  little  gasp  and  scream.  Her  husband's 
dark  face  turned  a  livid  white,  and  his  eyes  were  ugly. 

"  Possibly,"  said  Lord  Chesilden,  with  an  incredible 
urbanity,  "  you  have  not  yet  met  my  grandson,  the 
present  Lord  Stellacombe,  who  is  over  there  by  the 
church  door,  engaged  in — ah — the  pursuit  of  Natural 
History." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

LADY   STELLACOMBE   AT  HOME 

IT  was  Margery's  last  day  in  her  cottage ;  but,  as  she 
had  had  nothing  to  pack  except  her  own  and 
Dick's  few  personal  effects,  the  little  rooms  did  not 
look  too  unhomelike.  She  had  grown  accustomed  to 
the  change  in  her  position  and  prospects  with  an 
astonishing  quickness.  It  seemed  ages  ago  since  she 
had  sat  on  a  sunny  beach,  watching  Dick  build  sand- 
castles,  and  worrying  about  his  future ;  and  since 
the  passing  of  those  few  weeks  had  put  such  a  gulf 
between  then  and  now,  it  followed  that  the  brief  long- 
ago  days  of  her  wifehood  had  faded  almost  to  the 
dimness  of  a  dream.  Hope  had  been  dying  gradually 
for  so  long,  that  its  actual  death  was  very  nearly  pain- 
less. The  girl-wife,  the  boy-husband  of  those  days, 
seemed  almost  more  like  creatures  of  fiction  than  of 
fact.  She  could  look  back  to  the  story  of  their  loves 
and  griefs  with  a  certain  tender  pity  that  had  very 
little  connection  with  herself.  The  new  life  that  she 
was  about  to  begin  had  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  the 
Denzil  she  had  known. 

She  smiled  again  to  think  of  her  anxiety  over  Dick's 
future — Dick,    whose    name    was    already    put    down 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

for  Winchester,  where  long  generations  of  his  ancestors 
had  left  their  mark  in  every  sense  ;  whose  new  Shetland 
pony  was  even  now  awaiting  his  arrival  at  Chesilden ; 
who  had  the  joyful  anticipation  of  overhauling  a 
hundred  treasures,  great  and  small,  that  had  belonged 
to  his  father.  From  his  point  of  view,  there  was  only 
one  serious  drawback  to  his  new  honours,  though  that 
was  not  an  insignificant  one  for  five  years  old.  It 
was  very  trying  for  a  person  who  had  just  learnt 
successfully  to  sign  himself  "  Dick  Vane "  in  large 
letters  to  realize  that  his  labour  was  lost,  and  that 
he  must  begin  all  over  again  with  the  formidable  length 
and  complicated  spelling  of  "  Stellacombe." 

There  was  a  nine  days'  wonder  in  the  village,  of 
course.  Margery  was  amused  to  find  that  certain  old 
foes  of  hers,  who  had  strongly  disapproved  of  her 
dealings  with  their  turbulent  offspring,  were  foremost 
in  the  loud  chorus  that  proclaimed  "  her  ladyship  " 
the  best  teacher  that  the  school  had  ever  boasted. 
Dick,  less  versed  in  the  ways  of  even  the  smallest  world, 
was  surprised  to  find  that  "  the  little  lordship  "  held 
a  very  different  place  in  public  estimation  from 
"  Teacher's  Dicky."  Mrs.  Strong,  weeping  to  lose 
them,  overjoyed  at  their  good  fortune,  in  sore  straits 
between  affection  and  respect,  rang  the  changes  in 
such  a  marvellous  fashion  upon  endearments  and 
titles,  that  Margery  hardly  knew  whether  to  laugh 
or  cry,  and  ended  by  doing  a  little  of  both. 

She  was  moving  now  about  her  little  kitchen  and 
sitting-room,  getting  tea  ready  with  the  ease  and 
swiftness  that  comes  of  long  practice,  and  thinking  a 

320 


Lady  Stellacombe  at  Home 

little  timidly,  a  little  sadly,  of  the  very  different  meal 
to  which  she  would  sit  down  the  next  day.  It  was,  of 
course,  nothing  but  comfort  and  relief  to  be  free  for 
evermore  from  any  anxious  planning  about  Dick  ;  but 
for  herself  the  prospect  held  much  that  was  terrible 
for  a  shy  person,  who  had  led  such  a  life  as  hers  for 
the  past  five  years.  She  and  Dick  had  been  very  happy 
and  content  in  the  little  cottage.  Every  corner  of  it 
had  some  association  with  Dick's  first  steps  in  life  ; 
she  was  loath  to  leave  behind  the  very  kitchen  table, 
by  a  leg  of  which  he  had  for  the  first  time  pulled  him- 
self to  his  feet  some  four  years  ago  ;  and  a  hundred 
such  foolish,  trifling  recollections  made  the  tears  start 
to  her  eyes  as  she  looked  lingeringly  round.  The  tiny 
garden,  too — she  and  Dick  had  worked  in  that  with 
a  will,  and  produced  some  successes  and  some  failures, 
but,  on  the  whole,  had  succeeded  in  keeping  a  very 
creditable  bright  show  for  passers-by  to  see  during 
three-quarters  of  the  year.  She  did  not  like  to  think 
of  the  little  plot  in  other,  perhaps  careless  and  neglect- 
ful, hands.  Not  one  of  the  gardens  over  at  Chesilden 
could  take  the  same  place  in  her  affections.  Her 
eyes  fell  on  the  little  dumpy  seat  in  a  fireside  corner 
that  was  sacred  to  Mrs.  Strong — "  best  for  short  legs," 
as  that  good  lady  always  said  frankly.  Mrs.  Strong 
would  be  very  lonely  indeed  without  her  Sunday  tea 
and  gossip.  Visits  that  Margery  might  pay  her  in 
the  future — and  she  intended  that  they  should  be 
frequent — coming  over  in  stateful  carriage  or  luxurious 
motor,  would  be  entirely  different  from  the  homely 
friendliness  of  running  down  from  the  schoolhouse  to 

321  21 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

the  farm  whenever  she  had  half  an  hour  to  spare. 
Mrs.  Strong  would  soon  learn  to  look  upon  her  as  only 
a  rich  and  splendid  stranger,  with  no  tastes  or  interests 
in  common.  Even  already  her  manner  was  con- 
strained and  different. 

Frightened  by  the  increasing  sadness  of  her  thoughts, 
Margery  made  haste  to  be  very  busy  indeed ;  but 
the  contrasting  phantoms  of  past  and  future  were 
not  to  be  disposed  of  so  easily.  The  thought  came 
to  her,  choking  her  for  the  moment,  that  this  was 
the  very  last  time  she  would  ever  spread  a  tea-table. 
She  had  pleased  herself  in  making  a  little  feast  for 
Dick,  that  nothing  should  be  wanting  to  the  brightness 
of  their  last  evening  in  the  cottage.  But  now,  survey- 
ing the  table,  she  was  suddenly  aware  that  this  jam 
was  the  very  last  that  she  would  ever  make,  this 
cream  the  last  that  she  would  ever  scald.  She  had 
made  Dick  his  favourite  cakes ;  and  she  would  never 
make  them  again.  The  household  tasks,  that  had 
been  at  first  such  a  difficulty  and  burden,  had  long 
ago  become  absolute  pleasures ;  for  it  had  not  taken 
her  many  weeks  to  find  out  that  she  was  one  of  those 
who  are  housewives  born,  not  made.  She  knew  the 
pride  of  having  her  recipes  begged  for,  of  being  asked 
why  this  and  that  had  gone  wrong  in  someone  else's 
cookery,  of  being  entreated  to  show  how  such  and 
such  a  thing  should  be  done — "  because  yours  is 
always  so  wonderful  good,  Teacher !  "  Her  failures, 
after  the  first,  had  been  few ;  her  triumphs  many. 
At  Chesilden  she  would  scarcely  know  where  the 
kitchens  were.  The  housekeeping,  such  as  it  was — it 

322 


Lady  Stellacombe  at  Home 

must  be  the  veriest  trifle  with  that  great  army  of 
servants,  who  were,  to  speak  truth,  one  of  Margery's 
greatest  bugbears — was,  of  course,  entirely  in  Lady 
Denise's  capable  hands. 

Two  very  bitter  tears  ran  down  her  cheeks  as  she 
filled  her  teapot,  and  she  wiped  them  away  in  a  fright 
— a  pretty  preparation,  indeed,  for  the  bright,  cosy 
evening  she  had  planned  for  Dick  !  She  hastily  finished 
her  arrangements  and  ran  out  into  the  garden  ;  partly 
because  the  fresh  air  would  most  quickly  drive  away 
any  suspicious  redness  from  her  eyes,  partly  to  look  for 
Dick — for  he  was  a  couple  of  minutes  late,  and  the  hot 
cakes  would  be  cold. 

He  was  already  in  sight,  but  not  alone.  He  was 
walking  beside  Mr.  Kent,  and  Edward  strolled  behind 
them  with  the  detached  air  of  your  true  cat,  who 
would  not  for  the  world  have  you  think  that  he  is 
out  with  you  for  any  other  reason  than  the  gratification 
of  his  own  fancy. 

"  I  was  just  coming  to  say  good-bye,"  said  Mr. 
Kent,  stopping  at  the  gate. 

"  Won't  you  come  in  ?"  said  Margery.  "  We  are 
just  going  to  have  tea." 

He  had  never  been  inside  her  door,  a  little,  perhaps, 
to  her  chagrin  ;  for  a  good  housekeeper  takes  no  small 
pride  in  displaying  her  achievements  of  cookery  and 
dainty  arrangement.  But,  to  be  sure,  she  had  never 
asked  him  ;  she  had  always  had  a  keen  appreciation 
of  her  position  as  schoolmistress  and  his  as  Vicar. 

Mr.  Kent  hesitated :  perhaps  would  have  declined. 
But  Edward,  with  the  feline  decision  against  which 

323 


The  Real  Mrs.   Holyer 

there  is  no  appeal,  cocked  his  tail  straight  up  like  a 
ramrod,  and  walked  through  the  gate,  up  the  pathway, 
and  in  at  the  door. 

"  You  see  what  a  remarkable  cat !  "  said  Mr.  Kent, 
half  smiling.  "  He  quite  understood  your  kind 
invitation,  and  has  accepted  for  us  both." 

It  was  late  enough  in  the  year  to  make  an  evening 
fire  very  welcome ;  early  enough  to  have  a  six  o'clock 
tea  still  by  daylight  in  the  bright  little  room  that 
looked  westward.  Margery  was  so  haunted  by  the 
sad  words  "  for  the  last  time,"  that  she  was  thankful 
not  to  be  alone  with  Dick  for  that  tete-a-tete  tea  which 
she  had  originally  planned.  For  him,  of  course,  the 
great  change  was  an  unalloyed  delight.  He  chattered 
fast  to  Mr.  Kent  about  the  Shetland  pony  and  the 
other  treasures  that  awaited  him ;  he  was  almost 
too  excited  to  eat  the  dainties  that  Margery  had  pro- 
vided, and  was  obviously  counting  the  hours  that  must 
still  pass  before  the  Chesilden  motor  should  arrive,  to 
whirl  him  and  his  mother  off  to  the  new  life.  Margery, 
in  her  present  mood,  could  hardly  bear  it.  She  was 
glad  when  Edward  kindly  created  a  diversion  by 
standing  on  his  hind-legs,  planting  a  reproachful  white 
paw  firmly  for  an  instant  on  the  table-cloth,  and  sitting 
down  again  with  dignity  and  his  tail  curled  round  his 
feet. 

"  Oh,  make  him  ramp  !  "  Dick  cried.  "  Mother 
has  never  seen  him  !  " 

"  She  has  a  treat  in  store,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  with 
perfect  seriousness ;  but  he  glanced  at  Margery  with 
a  sidelong,  whimsical  glance  that  recalled  his  cousin. 

324 


Lady  Stellacombe  at  Home 

"  I  think  I  told  you  that  Edward  is  the  most  remark- 
able cat  in  Devonshire,  Lady  Stellacombe  ?  You  will 
now  see  him  do  what  no  other  cat  has  ever  been  known 
to  do  !  " 

Dick  had  assiduously  filled  a  saucer  with  milk. 
"  Edward,  be  a  cat  rampant !  "  commanded  his  master  ; 
and  Edward,  rising  once  more  on  his  hind  legs,  waved 
his  paws  in  the  air  in  a  slow  and  heraldic  manner,  and 
then  settled  down  to  the  contents  of  the  saucer  with 
concentration. 

It  was  absurd  of  Margery  to  feel  the  tears  smarting 
at  the  back  of  her  eyes,  while  she  laughed  rather  un- 
steadily. The  sound  of  her  rightful  name  was  still 
unnatural  in  her  ears,  and  made  her  feel  uncomfort- 
able. Edward's  waving  paws  recalled  ridiculously  the 
wyverns  at  Chesilden.  She  was  afraid  of  the  new  life  ; 
she  was  coward  enough  to  wish  that  the  old  life,  with 
all  its  disadvantages  and  anxieties,  could  come  back 
again.  It  was  an  unfeigned  relief  when  the  tea-party 
was  broken  up  by  a  couple  of  the  village  boys — sworn 
foes  of  Dick's  hitherto,  but  possessed  of  a  truckling  and 
far-sighted  mother — who  came  armed  with  a  parting 
gift,  in  the  shape  of  a  long-haired  guinea-pig  of  revolt- 
ing appearance.  Dick  was,  of  course,  in  raptures ; 
and  Margery  did  not  suggest  that  such  a  piece  of  live- 
stock might  not  be  welcome  at  Chesilden,  partly  because 
she  had  not  the  heart,  but  partly  because  she  foresaw 
shrewdly  enough  that  the  stern  old  man,  who  had  ruled 
his  sons  with  a  rod  of  iron,  bade  fair  to  be  twisted 
round  his  grandson's  little  finger.  Some  sort  of  accom- 
modation must  be  arranged  for  the  new-comer  for 

325 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

that  night,  of  course ;  and  Dick  withdrew  joyfully 
to  the  kitchen  to  make  a  temporary  hutch  out  of  a 
wooden  box. 

"  He  is  a  handy  little  fellow,"  said  Mr.  Kent. 

"  He  has  always  had  to  do  things  for  himself,"  said 
Margery,  very  seriously  and  with  a  little  sigh.  And 
Mr.  Kent  looked  at  her  in  silence  for  a  minute  before 
replying  :  "  Dick  is  made  of  too  good  stuff  to  be 
easily  spoiled." 

"  I  hope  he  won't  be,"  said  Margery. 

"  And  you  will  not  be  sorry  for  him  to  have — rather 
more  appropriate  companionship,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  with 
a  half-smile :  which  showed  that  he  had  seen  the  dis- 
taste, veiled  in  a  kindly  manner  enough,  with  which 
she  had  received  the  donors  of  the  guinea-pig. 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  said  Margery,  with  warmth  and  sincerity. 
It  was  the  one  point  connected  with  the  change  for 
which  she  was  wholly  thankful. 

"  And  you — you  will  not  be  sorry  to  have  a  little 
rest  yourself,  after  your  five  years  of  work  here," 
said  Mr.  Kent. 

"  I  like  work,"  said  Margery.  "  And — and  it  doesn't 
seem  to  me  that  I  shall  ever  have  anything  to  do 
again." 

She  stopped  suddenly  :  and  Mr.  Kent  said  nothing. 

"  I  never  lived  in  a  big  house  like  Chesilden,"  said 
Margery.  "  It  won't  seem  like  home.  If  only  they 
would  have  let  Dick  and  me  have  a  little  home  of  our 
own  somewhere  not  far  away — but  they  gave  me  no 
choice." 

Still  Mr.  Kent  said  nothing. 
326 


Lady  Stellacombe  at   Home 

"I'm  not  ungrateful — please  don't  think  I  ami" 
said  Margery,  frightened  and  repentant.  "  No  one 
could  have  been  kinder  than  Lord  Chesilden — and  I 
love  Denise 

' '  Denise  is  one  in  a  thousand ;  but  she  always  has 
her  own  way,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  with  another  little 
smile.  "  That  is  why  she  and  her  father  get  on 
together  so  well.  Neither  of  them  ever  gives  in  :  but 
fortunately  they  always  want  the  same  things." 

"  I  don't  feel  that  Dick  will  ever  be  all  my  own 
again  !  "  said  Margery,  in  a  quick,  sobbing  voice  that 
was  almost  a  cry. 

"  No  one  can  ever  take  his  mother's  place  with  Dick," 
said  Mr.  Kent ;  adding  quietly,  after  a  moment :  "I 
know  that,  for  my  own  mother  died  before  I  could 
remember  her." 

Margery  looked  up  with  quick  sympathy,  diverted 
from  her  own  perplexities.  She  had  never  heard 
Mr.  Kent  speak  of  himself  before.  Her  eyes  were 
very  soft  as  she  listened  to  the  two  or  three  quiet 
sentences  that  he  added,  telling  of  a  sad  and  lonely 
childhood,  a  lonely  boyhood,  a  manhood  of  hard, 
solitary  work.  Mr.  Kent  seemed  all  at  once  to  have 
stepped  down  from  the  pedestal  on  which  she  had 
always  looked  up  to  him,  and  to  be  standing,  sur- 
prisingly, on  the  same  level  as  herself.  For  the  first 
time  since  she  had  known  him,  it  struck  her  with 
surprise  that  he  was  not  so  very  much — say  ten  years — 
her  senior. 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry — I  am  sorry  !  "  she  cried,  with  so 
much  sympathy  that  Mr.  Kent,  smiling,  said : 

327 


The  Real  Mrs.  Holyer 

"  I  really  never  meant  to  make  myself  out  an  entirely 
distressful  person,  Lady  Stellacombe  !  " 

The  name  brought  back  suddenly  to  Margery  her 
own  troubles,  which  she  had  for  the  moment  forgotten. 
Her  lips  quivered. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  said  Mr.  Kent  quickly. 
"  What  have  I  said  ?  " 

"  It's  only  that  I  can't  bear  being  called  that," 
Margery  faltered  tremblingly.  "  It's  not  Denzil's 
name,  as  I  knew  him — it  seems  to  put  me  all  by 
myself " 

"  I  can't  call  you  Mrs.  Vane,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  "  be- 
cause it  is  not  your  name — and  never  was." 

Margery  shook  her  head  forlornly. 

"  Margery,"  said  Mr.  Kent,  "  do  you  think  you 
could  make  a  home  of  Chesilden  Vicarage  ?  " 


THE   END 


Printed  at  The  Chapel  River  Press,  Kingston,  Surrey. 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


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